


Distant Dreams Of Things To Be

by theredwagon



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredwagon/pseuds/theredwagon
Summary: Lonely Winds Part 2Summary; Our heroes are happily settled into their new roles when everything goes sideways in the most unexpected way.  An unplanned school run, a shocking hostage situation, a terrified little girl, and one badly wounded Uncle ‘tan and the rest of the ‘family’ drop everything to diffuse the volatile situation before any of the children are hurt and before they are too late to save d’Artagnan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes; This story is NOT from d’aArtagnan’s POV exclusively as the previous one, that would prevent me from telling the story as it should be told. Also, we’ve got badass!Athos, Aramis in a major role, and Porthos and Constance as ‘the adults in the room’. 
> 
> Disclaimer; Title taken from the same amazing song by The Yardbirds (Turn into Earth) that I lovingly borrowed the previous story’s title from. This story is not for profit; no money being made, no harm intended,

Chapter 1

“Tell me why again, am I on my way to take Marie to school, at arse o’clock in the morning?” d’Artagnan groans, sleepy and grumpy and all around disgruntled.

The little girl has become the centre of their little insular universe and closer to his heart than anyone, aside from Constance of course, but it’s 8 am and it’s d’Artagnan’s first day off in the past two weeks. With the terror level elevated to its highest alert in the city, d’Artagnan hasn’t been allowed even half a day off, and he’s on round-the-clock call even when he’s at home. D’Artagnan had insisted to Porthos, his new long-suffering boss, that he would be useless if he wasn’t allowed at least one day to just sleep, decompress and simply do nothing. 

But instead, he’s in his car, a shiny new Audi that Constance had bought him, well _them_ , but mostly for him, with Constance on the phone and responsibly using the car’s built it Bluetooth connection to conduct their call. The car was the most shocking thing that had ever happened to him, more shocking even than being shot in the chest, since that is to be expected when you carry a weapon and not a briefcase for a living. With his beloved bike stored safely in his parents garage for weekend use, the pair had found themselves without a car when they’d moved from Guildford to London. D’Artagnan had moaned and groaned about being too broke to buy anything decent after the purchase of their flat and he’d churlishly turned up his nose at every used option they’d looked at. Frustrated, Constance told him to use public transport like everyone else, but that wasn’t always an option when he’d have to leave the house at 4 am in full body armour. And besides, what was the use of paying for a parking spot in their apartment block when there was nothing to park there, he’d groused.

Fed up, Constance had used a chunk of her savings, financed the balance and purchased them a beautiful new black and silver Audi A3, slapped the keys in his hand and said ‘you’re welcome’. When d’Artagnan sprinted down to the car park and found the car sitting in their designated spot, he’d cried, real tears, not because he’d coveted it – he had of course – but because Constance never ceased to surprise and shock him. Constance had then come up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and said, in typical Constance’s no-nonsense manner, “Stop sobbing, mate, if the neighbours see you they’ll start to question your fitness to keep their country safe.”

Back to the present, Constance replies to his query with a snort of laughter, because Constance is one of the lads, and her laugh reflects that fully. “Because Ellie is sick in bed, Porthos, your _boss_ , is already at Whitehall and I’m with Aramis in Reading. And you’re fully aware that Athos doesn’t interact with children very well. Anything else you need to know?”

“No thanks, luv, you’ve spelled it all out for me nicely.”

“Make sure you strap her into the car seat properly,” Constance warns, and then with a quick ‘love you’, she hangs up. 

The car seat is a sacrilege to their new car; this is what d’Artagnan said when Constance had first strapped it into his back seat, but his partner had simply told him to ‘get over it’. Marie was in their car as much as she was in Ellie’s and Porthos’ since they lived only 10 minutes away from each other in their respectable, middle class North London suburb, where all the mums did the morning school-run in designer track suits – _those velvety looking ones with the rhinestones, d’Artagnan had mused one day, utterly confused by the look_ – and their huge Michael Kors handbags – _drastically reduced in price, Ellie had said with a giggle, at the local TK Maxx_ – and more than one had openly admired d’Artagnan’s arse – _I CAN’T Constance, please, they’re all cougars!_ – but there had been no mercy from the girls who often had him driving Marie to and from school when he was available and truth be told, d’Artagnan was too enchanted by the little girl to ever say no. In all honestly, every moment he spent with her was like a ray of sunshine in an existence of danger and fear and complete madness, and fuck it all, why were they all still doing this shit instead of something a little less…life threatening?

With a tired sigh, he pulls up in front of Porthos’ big Victorian house and rings Ellie to let her know he’s arrived. He jumps out of the car, flipping on the blue light he’s only supposed to use for emergencies to double-park, and goes up to the front door to get Marie. The door opens to reveal a very sick-looking Ellie, wearing a flowered dressing gown and holding a box of Kleenex, nose and eyes red from sneezing. Marie barrels past her and wraps her arms around d’Artagnan’s long legs and squeals “Uncle ‘tan!!” as if he’s the second coming and he pries her off him to place a kiss on her forehead and takes her tiny hand in his. 

“Quick, she looks contagious,” he tells Marie, wrinkling his nose comically at Ellie. He receives a glare back from Ellie and he can’t help but laugh as he guides Marie to the car where he buckles her into her seat and hands her the remote for the car’s entertainment system, since naturally, she’s the boss. 

“You've got to take me into class today,” she informs him matter of factly. “Ms. Robbins said everyone’s parents have to pick up their assignment on _di-ver-si-ty_ personally,” she says, sounding out the word as if d’Artagnan was too uninformed to understand. D’Artagnan was about to remind her that he’s not her parent but she beats him to the punch and informs him that Ellie wrote a note. 

Marie attends a Catholic school, similar to the one he’d attended himself way back when, but this one is smaller, private and all around much posher. Porthos’s new position affords them comforts that hadn’t been available to the couple when they’d been separated and at lower-paying jobs. Now that Ellie is successfully working from home since graphic design is flexible and Porthos’s new salary quite impressive, Marie has been moved from state school to private for her first year of primary school. D’Artagnan doesn’t have to use the blue law-enforcement light because surprisingly, he manages to find a parking spot among the Range Rovers and Mercs, and he takes his precious charge by the hand, guiding her through the school playground and into the building. 

It’s early yet, Marie arrives a half hour before the other students because she is a class helper for the month of February, so there are not that many children or staff yet on the school grounds. D’Artagnan walks her past the Juicy-track-suit brigade with a friendly smile and a wave, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as they all eye him like he’s made of candy as he walks by. In Marie’s classroom the little girl shakes him off and runs to get the desks set up. Ms. Robbins, a no-nonsense woman in her 40’s with a Caribbean lilt to her accent greets him warmly, and starts looking through her desk for Marie’s assignment. 

“I’ve requested that a parent or guardian pick this up since in the past some of the children have had shocking views on racial and social diversity and it’s been necessary to have a chat with their parents,” she says, handing d’Artagnan the colourfully decorated assignment. “Of course, there was none of that in Marie’s work, please tell her parents that I am very impressed with their child, and they should be as well,” she tells a chuffed-with pride d’Artagnan, just as pleased as if she was his own daughter. 

“I know, she’s amazing, I’d expect nothing less from her,” he says beaming, and he wonders if this is what it will feel like, one day, some day, when he and Constance decide it’s time for a family. 

“Well, she’s lucky to have such a diverse and large extended ‘family’ as well,” Ms. Robbins says, since the woman has met just about all of the old Team 3, aside from Athos, who outright refuses to go anywhere near the school; despite his deep affection for the child, he’s drawn the line at interacting with other people’s children on his own, from day one. 

“Yeah, that’s one way to describe us,” d’Artagnan agrees, since they all hail from different social, racial and economic backgrounds, and add in their mixed European heritages and religions and yes, they certainly are a diverse lot. “Right then, I’ve got to go, I’ll be back at three to pick her up, please remind her to wait for me inside,” d’Artagnan stresses, Porthos’ orders of course, and Ms. Robbins assures him that she will be in the classroom waiting for him. 

Marie gives him a quick peck on the cheek and he puts the assignment in her princess-themed rucksack and with a wave he turns to go, only to be stopped by his absolute worst nightmare; the sound of gunshots in the corridor. 

Like a switch had been flipped, he is no longer Uncle ‘tan, he is d’Artagnan, soldier, spy and commander in Counter-terrorism and he sprints to the door and locks it. There are 7 children aside from himself and Ms. Robbins and he orders them into the corner of the room and makes a barricade of desks for them to hide behind. D’Artagnan takes his Glock from his ankle holster and reminds a shocked Ms. Robbins that he works for Marie’s dad in law enforcement. More shots are fired outside the classroom and d’Artagnan is nearing the door when someone shoots the lock and kicks it in. 

The children scream and the thought of Porthos’ child in mortal danger is nearly his undoing but he stands his ground and the minute the door opens and he sees weapons and ski masks and boiler suits, d’Artagnan fires. 

The first man through the door goes down with a shot to the head, the second with a shot to the chest, but the third gets d’Artagnan right above his hip and he gasps and is jerked back but he doesn’t lose his grip on his weapon and he gets off another volley of shots, taking down two more men before his half-full clip is finally empty. Four more men enter the classroom, clearly shocked at the carnage and d’Artagnan finds himself dragged backwards by an arm clamped around his neck and he's then dropped to the floor onto his knees, a horrible cry of pain escaping his throat when his kneecaps connect with the ground and his side is jarred. 

He hears Marie sobbing along with the other students and then the barrel of a Beretta is settled on his forehead and he prays to God the children won’t see his brains blown out of his head. 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” one of the four remaining men in balaclavas says furiously, in a thick northern accent. 

This isn’t Texas; London is not normally a place where parents take their children to school armed unless they are law enforcement or military and that’s what d’Artagnan’s captor wants to know. 

“Security guard at Waitrose,” d’Artagnan replies, panting, and he is rewarded with a blow to his forehead with the barrel of the gun 

Two of the men leave the room and return herding a group of children, parents, teachers and school staff into the classroom, forcing them to walk around the dead bodies and puddles of blood and towards the back of the room. In total, d’Artagnan calculates there’s about 30 people, crying and wailing children and terrified adults, aside from himself and the 4 hooded men. He can see their hands, and their necks and it’s obvious that they are Caucasian males, and he estimates them to be military or former military and in their mid-to-late thirties or so. Crucifix tattoo on the wrist of one, so probably not religious extremists; this is all discerned by years of training and experience and d’Artagnan could probably pinpoint their accents and possibly their branch of the Forces as well, if is head wasn’t ringing and he wasn’t bleeding all over himself and onto the floor. 

“Listen to me,” he tells the one standing in front of him with the Beretta, blood running into his eye from the cut on his forehead. “Let everyone go, I’m valuable, I promise, you can trade me for whatever you want and they’ll listen,” d’Artagnan says urgently, his brain calling up all of his knowledge of hostage negotiation and forcing everything else back, even Marie. 

The man deals d’Artagnan another blow to the head with the Beretta. “You’re lying and know it, the government doesn’t negotiate, they go in swingin’,” he growls. “Now which one of these adorable little tykes is yers, mate, eh?” 

If blood could literally freeze in a person’s veins that’s what d’Artagnan felt happen to him at that moment. “Don’t tell them,” d’Artagnan cries out to everyone in the room. Just about everyone who works at the tight-knit school knows that Marie is some sort of relation of d’Artagnan’s and he begs God to make them keep they bloody mouths shuts, children as well. “Why does it matter? I’m useless now, I’m bleeding and weaponless and I’m willing to cooperate, why would it matter if any of these children were mine?” he demands. 

“Insurance, mate, and if yer as valuable as you claim you are then the little one must be too,” the other man speculates. Yorkshire, d’Artagnan thinks dully, squaddie from Yorkshire, maybe wronged by the government, something to do with pensions, or maybe they’re protestant extremists, this is a Catholic school, he reasons, his brain taking notes, squaring them away. 

His assailant places the Beretta against his forehead again. “Come on kiddies, no one wants daddy’s brains blown out all over the floor do they?” he asks the children. Marie, d’Artagnan notes, is still behind the barricade of desks and she hasn’t said a word, but she’s sobbing like all the other children. 

“Don’t tell him,” d’Artagnan calls out again, urgently. “Please do not tell him! Remember what Porthos told you about keeping secrets?” he reminds her, hoping Marie will listen to him and stay quiet. 

‘What did you say?” This comes from another of the hooded men, one that has two handguns pointed at the group of parents. “What the fuck did you just say?” he demands. 

D’Aragnan realises his mistake with a sick feeling of dread low in his belly. If they are military they might actually know who he and Porthos are. But it’s not his completely his fault, he’s losing blood and his head is swimming and it’s all he can do to stay upright, even on his knees. 

“You fucking bollocky wanker,” the other man, Whitey, d’Artagnan is calling him since he has the palest skin, says to Beretta. “Do you know who Porthos is? You were supposed to check the rolls, make sure no one important brings their kid ‘ere, you didn’t notice that one of these little shits belongs to the second in command at Counter-terrorism? He’s on the telly every other night, givin’ updates on the state of alerts and all that, his last name, which is pretty fuckin’ distinctive, didn’t jump out at you or even make you wonder?" Also from somewhere North, d'Artagnan figures, but he can't pinpoint the region. 

The other man shakes his head slowly, obviously shocked. “Why does he go by Porthos? Isn’t that some stupid name out of a book?” 

“Yeah, but it’s also one of the code names they used at Agency Team 3, the so-called The Musketeers, and Porthos used to be Team 3! We are utterly fucking screwed,” Whitey hisses furiously. 

“You can still get out of this, just walk out that door, I ‘aven’t seen your faces,” d’Artagnan reasons, “just walk away before it’s too late.” 

“So which Musketeer are you?” Berretta asks d’Artagnan carefully, inspecting his face as if it will give something away. “You look around twelve, who exactly are you, mate? Last chance,” he warns d’Artagnan. 

“Can I have something to stop the bleeding first?” d’Artagnan tries to reason, terrified of what will happen to Marie and the other children if he loses consciousness. “I’m no use to you dead, you really don’t want to kill me,” he says, his words beginning to slur slightly. 

“I do actually,” Beretta says roughly. “I truly want to blow yer pretty face off, now tell me who you are and which is Porthos’ kid or I’ll start shooting ‘ostages, kiddies first.” 

“No,” d’Artagnan says defiantly. “And you won’t shoot the children. You’re soldiers and I’ve never met or served with a soldier in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces willing to murder a brother in arms or innocent children,” he says carefully, tongue thick and mouth dry. 

Beretta nods slowly, considering. “So you’re Army or you’re Team 3, maybe you’re Counter-terrorism like Porthos, either way, I don’t give a rats fuckin’ arse if I kill you, tell me which one is Porthos’ kid or I’m gonna to put this gun in your mouth and fire.” 

__“NO!” a child’s voice screams and that’s it, game over, Marie has just given herself away. She rips herself out of Ms. Robbins embrace and d’Artagnan watches in horror as she runs towards him and she then wraps her little arms around his neck, sobbing.__

____

____

There are another two men who have so far been completely silent and one of them stays with his weapon trained on the parents, d’Artagnan refers to him as Dumbo because even though his ears are covered, they look quite prominent, and the other, holding an automatic assault rifle, moves closer to d’Artagnan and speaks for the first time. “Is this yer daddy sweetie or maybe your uncle?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux kindness. “We won’t ‘urt him, I promise, just tell us his name.” 

“Don’t tell them, pumpkin, go back and sit with Ms. Robbins,” d’Artagnan tells her, horrified that the little girl will end up covered in his blood…or even his brains. 

“Oi! Yer not in charge ‘ere, mate,” Whitey growls at him and the other man, who d’Artagnan is now calling him Sweetie, tells Whitey to stay out of it. 

“Now little girl, what ‘is name, come on darlin’ no one will ‘urt him again if you tell us, I swear,” Sweetie coaxes. 

“Uncle ‘tan,” she says, still sobbing and clinging to him. “He’s my Uncle ‘tan.” 

"He’s d’Artagnan, Team 3,” Whitey says slowly. “You, teacher,” he says to Ms. Robbins, “Take the girl, now!” and Ms. Robbins rushes forwards and forcefully pulls Marie off d’Artagnan. He tries to soothe her, to tell her everything is going to be alright, but no words come out. He’s bleeding to death, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. As soon as Marie is safely in the corner with Ms. Robbins he slumps over, onto his side, no longer able to keep himself upright. 

“Does any of you know how to fix ‘im up?” Beretta demands of the parents and the teachers. 

“I do,” a young woman says, raising a tentative hand. “I’m the school nurse, I know what to do,” she adds, obviously terrified but d’Artagnan also sees bravery in her expression behind her fear. “I need supplies from my office, and a cleaner place to work. If we’re going to be here for a while,” she tells them archly, “then I suggest you take us somewhere else, there are four dead bodies in this room,” she reminds them, “and it’s about to get very smelly in here.” 

If he wasn’t in so much pain and his head wasn’t so muzzy d’Artagnan is sure he would have barked out a laugh. He thinks this nurse is wasting her talent here, and if they get out of this alive he’s going to tell Porthos or Athos to offer her a proper job. 

“She’s right,” Sweetie says, and d’Artagnan is hauled back up to his knees. “We need to move everyone to another room, and fix up our Musketeer here, I’m sure Porthos will be a lot more cooperative if we keep him alive.” 

“How do you know so much about Team 3?” Beretta asks Whitey, sounding completely dumbfounded. 

“When I was posted at Whitehall, you idiot, I ‘eard things, they were the most elite Team, I’ve never met ‘em, it was all top-secret, but I'd seen Porthos around once or twice, massive bloke, you can't miss him, I realised who 'e was when I saw him on the news. If this wanker’s d’Artagnan, then ‘e was some big ‘ero last year, he’s got to be worth something to someone in the MoD.” 

"You won’t get a thing if you ‘urt the children,” d’Artagnan warns, swaying. 

“You talk too much,” Sweetie informs him and he steps closer and slams the butt of the automatic rifle into the back of d’Artagnan’s head…and everything goes black. 

__

__******************************_ _

__

__Porthos is just finishing up in a meeting when he walks into his office and find Athos sitting behind his desk in his chair, his expression tense and a muscle working in his jaw._ _

__“What’s wrong?” Porthos asks at once. Athos is far too busy for unplanned social calls, this must be something…extreme._ _

__Athos takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “There’s a hostage situation…at St. Mary’s,” he says finally._ _

__Porthos feels all the blood drain from his head and he literally falls into the chair on the opposite side of his desk._ _

__“Marie?” he asks, barely able to get his daughter’s name out of his constricted throat._ _

__“Traumatized but fine, d’Artagnan…not so good.”_ _

__“And you know this because…ah right, the CCTV,” Porthos says, nodding. “So do they know we can see their every move inside the building?”_ _

__“I doubt it, the cameras are too well hidden and they haven’t disarmed them so it’s safe to say that they don’t know. Aramis and Constance are on their way back from Reading and Treville is driving me mad, wants an update yesterday. You’re too close to this, brother, I’ve already been authorised to run the negotiations. D’Artagnan’s unit is on site, as well as one more of your tactical units and some of your techs. The streets are closed on all four sides, and we have ambulances standing by.”_ _

__“And you didn’t think it was important enough to get me out of a budget meeting to let me know that my child is in mortal danger?” he roars._ _

__“This is exactly why I did NOT get you out of the budget meeting. Now come on, I’m negotiating myself, no one knows what they want yet, but they look to be ours – military – and d’Artagnan’s been shot and pistol whipped too many times in the past hour to have his wits about him,” Athos says grimly._ _

__“Fuck,” Porthos says, taking off his tie and throwing it aside. “Is it bad?”_ _

__“I couldn’t tell. He took down four of them, but it seems as if he only had half a clip, and there were another four. He was doing the school-run, not on duty, we’re lucky he wasn’t in his pyjamas,” Athos tells him, rising from the chair as Porthos takes two service weapons from a locked drawer, puts on a double holster and slides them in._ _

__“Let’s go, brother, there’s a car waiting for us downstairs,” Athos says and they hurry out of the building silently, all manner of horrific images running through Porhos’ brain._ _

__The car ride is tense, their driver, a junior officer in the SAS, is weaving his way around the mass of cars, using a light and siren to get through the morning traffic. Porthos can’t sit still, he keeps taking out his phone to call Ellie and then decides against it each time, until Athos takes the phone from away from him._ _

__“Don’t call her, ring a friend or a neighbour to go round and then call her,” the older man advises and Porthos nods, taking the phone back and he calls their neighbour, explains the situation as best as he can and asks her to ring him back when she's inside his house.__

___“How did we even find out?” Porthos wonders, dazed, still trying to absorb everything that's happened. “Did someone call the police?”_ _ _

___Athos nods. “Headmistress and parents found all the doors locked and barricaded. Local police were able to get access to the CCTV feed from inside the school building and called your boss, who then decided it was best to call me,” he explains carefully. “You’re too much like the boy, hotheaded and you think with your heart, it has to be me in charge, agreed brother?”_ _ _

___Porthos nods reluctantly. “So Marie is definitely unharmed, yeah?”_ _ _

___Athos nods and squeezes his shoulder. “And you know the lad, no matter how bad it gets, he won’t let anything happen to her, he’ll lay down his life before anyone touches your child, brother.”_ _ _

___“Athos, that doesn’t make me feel any better,” Porthos says, his heart clenching. Besides, d’Artagnan might be dead long before he gets a chance to do anything heroic since he’s been shot and beaten Porthos thinks grimly._ _ _

___When they finally arrive at the school they are both relieved to find that the entire area has been blocked off so there’s no press or curious onlookers. On site they find two of Porthos’ teams in full body armor and carrying automatic weapons and local police for support and crowd control. Just minutes after Porthos and Athos arrive, a frantic Constance comes running up to them, Aramis close behind her._ _ _

___“Is my pumpkin alright?” she asks, terrified._ _ _

___“She’s fine, we’ve got monitors in that van streaming the cameras,” Athos says, indicating a vehicle parked a few meters away from them, “so we know for sure that she’s unharmed. Constance, d’Artagnan is inside as well,” he begins carefully, “and it appears as if he’s injured.”_ _ _

___Pothos moves forward just in time to catch Constance as she stumbles slightly. She takes a deep breath and searches both of their gazes before she asks. “Is it serious?”_ _ _

___Porthos tightens his grip on her elbow and pulls her closer before Athos replies. “He’s been shot in the lower left abdomen, but he also has a head injury…injuries, actually, they were pretty enthusiastic about smacking him around, he killed four of them though before they took him down,” Athos explains, and Porthos hears the pride in his former colleague’s tone as he says it._ _ _

___“He’s got a ‘ard ‘ead,” Porthos tells her, giving her one last squeeze before releasing her to follow Athos into the van. Aramis has shed his jacket and tie and is assembling his rifle silently and efficiently. Porthos knows that Aramis will be the most focused of all of them, and he’s truly grateful that he was close enough to get there as soon as he had. This is too much to face without his brothers…and sister, he reminds himself, at his side._ _ _

___In the van they see that Porthos’ tech team is focused on two monitors. On a third Athos is playing the video from the beginning. Eight men enter the building, shooting in the air to get everyone’s attention and they lock and barricade the doors. Porthos, Constance and Aramis watch in horror as d’Artagnan is shot and pistol whipped and everyone in the building is herded into one classroom. Moments after, they see Marie run to him and cling to her injured Uncle ‘tan. Constance gasps at the sight of the little girl clinging to a bloodied d'Artagnan and her hand comes up to her mouth, but she composes herself quickly and continues to watch silently._ _ _

___On one of other two monitors is the live feed from the classroom they were originally held in and the other is the one where the hostages have been moved. In the room with the dead bodies, a young woman is kneeling beside d’Artagnan, and she appears to be dressing the wound on his side. D’Artagnan though is perfectly still and Porthos hears Constance’s breath catch, but to her credit she says nothing. He is wearing light brown cargo trousers and the top half of the left side of them are dark with blood. His black hooded jacket is open and his beige jersey is also mostly covered in blood._ _ _

___In the other classroom all of the children are sitting in the back of the room on the floor, a group of parents, teachers and school employees beside them. Porthos can see Marie sitting beside her teacher, Ms. Robbins, her tiny body curled up tight and leaning on the woman, who has her arm around the traumatised little girl. He is heartbroken that his daughter had to witness d’Artagnan being shot right in front of her eyes, let alone watch him kill four people himself. There will be no mercy for these men, Porthos decides grimly, not after what his little girl and his brother have suffered at their hands. They’re dead men, no matter how this ends, he vows._ _ _

___“I need to initiate contact,” Athos tells everyone, “so you’ll all have to exit the vehicle, aside from the lads here monitoring the feed.”_ _ _

___Constance and Aramis leave the vehicle but Porthos baulks. “Absolutely not!” he roars but at that moment Aramis pokes his head back into the van and meets Porthos' gaze._ _ _

___“Come on, brother, you know the drill, we have to leave Athos alone to do this properly,” he reasons and after a long pause a very reluctant and disgruntled Porthos complies._ _ _

___“D’Artagnan needs medical attention I gather,” Aramis says to Porthos and Constance once the back doors of the van are shut._ _ _

___“Someone was tending to him…I have no idea if she knows what she’s doing though.” Constance replies distractedly. “But we can’t let on that we know he’s been shot if they don’t tell us, they’ll know there’s cameras,” she tells them worriedly._ _ _

___“Right, well if we can get that information from them Athos can tell them he’s sending in a medic…me… so that I can check how badly injured he is, be our person on the inside and to protect Marie of course,” Aramis tells Porthos with the utmost sincerity._ _ _

___They don’t have a chance to discuss it further because Athos exits the back of the van and shuts the doors behind him._ _ _

___“I rang one of the internal phones that are connected to the classrooms and one of them answered. They claim to be former soldiers and said this is a desperate protest against the general state of veteran's affairs, pensions and healthcare. Their spokesperson called himself Chris and he says they want to meet with Louis,” Athos explains, exasperated as he says the Ministers name. "Apparently they’ve done this because he’s refused to meet with them…repeatedly.”_ _ _

___“Why here? Why Marie’s school? Did they know my daughter attends school ‘ere?” Porthos asks, horrified that his child might have been targeted because of his position._ _ _

___Athos shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I do know that this Chris person referred to both you and d’Artagnan by your pseudonyms so it’s possible, or maybe the lad or Marie let something slip? D'Artagnan was armed and took out half those men, maybe someone recognised his face from Whitehall. Then there’s the fact that d’Artagnan was in the Forces for two years, could even be someone he’d served with by chance, there’s too many factors right now and not enough information. One of us needs to get inside.”_ _ _

___“Me,” Aramis says at once. “It’s what we were discussing while you were on the phone. Did they tell you that d’Artagnan is injured?”_ _ _

___“Yes, they said someone was taking care of him, but I will inform them that there is no way Louis will come unless they let a proper medic tend to the wounded and anyone who might be in shock or have a medical condition,” Athos says. “In the meanwhile, Constance, you must get Treville on the phone, he’s the only person who can get Louis to come here or at the very least, ring them.”_ _ _

___“On it,” she says, and she moves a few feet away from the rest of them to make the call._ _ _

___“You mean to tell that that Louis would refuse to come ‘ere, even for the sake of kids?” Porthos asks, utterly shocked._ _ _

___Athos nods slowly and runs one hand through his perpetually dishevelled hair. “He’ll say ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’, which is his standard line. Don’t worry brother, as long as Aramis can get inside and assess the situation we will be one step ahead of them. They don’t know we’re monitoring them which is another advantage. D’Artagnan’s Unit are already examining the building plans for a vulnerable place to breach, they’re good lads, you chose them all personally, they’ll make sure all the children come out safely, you _know_ that.”_ _ _

___“Athos, I’ll need some kind of uniform or maybe scrubs, I’ve got trainers in the car, and I’ll get supplies from these medics here. I’ll need a drip for sure, it’s been…,” Aramis says looking at his watch, “almost two hours since d’Artagnan’s been shot, I’ll need to get plasma and fluids into him as soon as possible. If they know who he is I doubt they’ll let him go, and knowing our stubborn brother, he won’t leave Marie, or any of those children behind anyway.”_ _ _

___“Alright, I’ll make the call and tell them that Louis won’t come if they don’t allow a medic inside,” Athos says, “and that will buy us time for d’Artagnan’s Unit to come up with something and possibly get the Minister here.”_ _ _

___“And hopefully give Aramis a chance to save that idiot’s life,” Porthos growls angrily. He knows that _this_ time it’s not d’Artagnan’s fault, and in all honesty the lad has once again made him proud, securing the children first, facing eight-against-one odds without the slightest hesitation or show of fear, but he channels his terror with anger and he wants to kick the boy’s skinny butt for getting himself shot yet again._ _ _

___“I don’t need to tell you to watch your arse, do I brother?” Porthos asks Aramis, loath to send him inside but there really is no other choice, not with d’Aragnan’s and the children’s lives hanging in the balance._ _ _

___Aramis gives him a lopsided grin. “Absolutely not, you know how much I value my arse, it’s my best feature, aside from my devastatingly handsome face of course.”_ _ _

___Porthos gives him a half-hearted attempt at a grin in response. “Yeah, I know,” he says, because that’s Aramis’ way of saying _‘I’ve got this, don’t worry’_. “Alright, everyone knows what to do, crack on, I want Aramis in there immediately,” Porthos says and he urges Athos to get into the van to make the call. _ _ _

___Now there’s nothing left for Porthos to do but wait._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, name the episode the plot is borrowed from???


	2. Chapter 2

When d’Artagnan opens his eyes he’s immediately assailed by a burning pain in his side and his head feels like it’s been smashed by a hammer in more than one spot. He swallows back the bile that rises up his throat from the vertigo - concussion he confirms to himself - and he shuts his eyes, but only long enough to get the world to stop spinning. _Marie_! he thinks at once and his eyes pop open and he scans his surroundings for the little girl. 

They’re obviously in another classroom, confirmed by the absence of dead bodies and pools of blood. The children, including an unharmed Marie, and the parents and teachers are all sitting on the floor in the back of the room while he is propped up against the wall in the front of the classroom, under the whiteboards. Someone has bandaged the gunshot wound in his side but it’s still bleeding sluggishly, he can actually feel the blood leaking with every movement he makes, no matter how small, and he’s dizzy and cold with blood loss. 

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” Whitey says, gun pointed directly at d’Artagnan’s head. “They’re sending in a medic to fix you up, can’t ‘ave you dyin’ on us since you really are as valuable as you claim to be.”

D’Artagnan nods slowly. “Let the children go, a gesture of good will,” he says, his words slurring together. 

“You’re a cheeky bastard, aren’t ya? I don’t think you’re in a position to be suggesting anything, mate,” Beretta says and he gives d’Artagnan a hard kick to the thigh to drive home his point. When he’s done gasping for breath, d’Artagnan’s head falls back and lolls to one side, his eyes squeezing shut against the dizziness and the pain.  
Once again, Marie reacts to the abuse heaped on d’Artagnan and she cries out for him, but Ms. Robbins has her in a steel-tight grip so the little girl isn’t able to come to his side. Thank God for small mercies, d’Artagnan thinks, the last thing he wants is the little girl to see him up close again, blood soaking into his clothes and his eyes surely unfocused from the multiple blows to his throbbing head. 

A landline rings and d’Artagnan nearly jumps out of his skin at the shrill sound. Whitey answers it, and when he hangs up he whispers something to Sweetie, who tells Dumbo to follow him out into the corridor. D’Artagnan has no idea what is happening and he’s having a very hard time focusing. When the two men re-enter the classroom minutes later, they have a newcomer between them; Aramis. 

D’Artagnan’s gaze flitters to Marie, terrified that the little girl will give Aramis away but to her credit, she says nothing and Ms. Robbins is speaking quietly to her, soothing her. Aramis is dressed as a paramedic and he’s carrying two bags of supplies that Whitey and Beretta check thoroughly. When they’re satisfied, Sweetie pushes him forcefully towards d’Artagnan. 

“Fix ‘im up and get the fuck out of ‘ere,” Sweetie says threateningly. “And don’t try anything stupid, or I’ll blow ‘is head off,” he says indicating d’Artagnan. 

“I’m more efficient when I’m not being threatened,” Aramis says drily, dropping to his knees beside his injured brother and d’Artagnan is very grateful for his solid presence. Aramis puts on a pair of surgical gloves and pulls d’Artagnan’s shirt up and away from the gunshot wound, exposing the bandages applied by the nurse. D’Artagnan has bled right through the flimsy gauze and Aramis, his mouth set in a tight line, sets about cleaning the entrance and exit wounds and re-bandaging his side using a pressure dressing to slow the bleeding. D’Artagnan has no choice by to keep silent as Aramis works despite pain and the endless questions on the tip of his tongue. When the medic is done with his gunshot wound he begins to examine d’Artagnan’s head injuries and the younger man can tell his brother is furious at what he finds. He uses tiny butterfly bandages to close the gash on d’Artagnan’s forehead, mumbling all the while under his breath about the state of the younger man.

“If you hit him again you’ll kill him,” Aramis warns, checking his pupils, doing a rudimentary test for concussion, and checking behind his ears for signs of bruises that would indicate a bleed. 

“Just do your job and keep yer mouth shut,” Whitey growls.

A muscle jumps in Aramis’ jaw but otherwise he appears stoic, d’Artagnan notes, even though he knows the older man is using all his self-control to keep his emotions in check. He takes two bags of fluid from one of his cases and tells Beretta that he needs the coat stand from the far corner of the room to rig up a drip. At first, d’Artagnan thinks Beretta will refuse, but he tells Dumbo to bring the wooden stand to the medic and Aramis hangs the bags from the lower rungs and searches for a vein.

“Are you dizzy, lad?” he asks casually as he searches for a vein to insert the needle. 

“Yes,” d’Artagnan tells him truthfully. Lying is pointless and keeping the truth from his brothers could hinder any rescue attempt. “Everything’s spinning and I feel like I need to be sick.”

Aramis finally gets the needle in and attaches d’Artagnan to the drip and within second his veins are flooded with fluids meant to replace the blood he has lost as well as an antibiotic as a precaution against infection, Aramis explains clinically. Aramis then gets a blood pressure cuff and tells him that he needs to make sure that the fluids don’t raise his blood pressure higher than desired and d’Artagnan just makes a noise of affirmation, too dizzy and in too much pain to do anything more.

“He needs to be hospitalised immediately,” Aramis tells the hostage-takers, “these are temporary measures and I can’t guarantee anything under these circumstances.”

“Good to know, but ‘e aint goin’ anywhere. You go back outside and tell them what you just told me, maybe that wanker of a Minister will get ‘ere all that quicker,” Whitey says coldly. 

Aramis’ eye widen, clearly surprised. “Use the phone, I can’t leave him if you want him to stay alive,” the medic insists. “If it’s truly that important to you that he survive then I need to stay. Also, I’d like to have a look at the children and anyone else who may need assistance. If people start fainting on you I’m sure it’ll do your cause more harm than good.”

For the first time, Dumbo speaks. “e’s right, lads, let ‘im check the kiddies at least.” South London, d’Artagnan thinks, probably working class background and he has some compassion for the children, this could be useful, he catalogues in his throbbing brain.

Whitey and Beretta exchange looks and Whitey gruffly tells Aramis to check on the kids only.

D’Artagnan watches keenly as Aramis begins with Marie, probably to make sure she doesn’t give him away. Sure enough, as he is examining her, he sees Aramis whisper something in her ear and d’Artagnan lets out a groan on purpose to distract Sweetie who has his eyes laser focused on the medic. All four of the hostage-takers swing their attention to d’Artagnan who is pretending to be in distress while Aramis talks to Marie and Ms. Robbins, who has also recognised the older man as one of Marie’s ‘relatives’. 

“Oi, you, medic, what the fuck is wrong with this stupid sod now?” Whitey growls, pointing at d’Artagnan who is doing is best to distract them.

“He’s in pain, you shot him and bashed his head in,” Aramis says with underlying sarcasm. “I’ll give him something to calm him down when I’m done here.”

D’Artagnan, who actually _is_ in pain and his head _has_ been bashed-in watches in satisfaction as their captors exchange nervous glances. 

“If ‘e dies, it’s murder,” Dumbo says in a hissed whisper to Sweetie, who d’Artagnan thinks is hiding the fact that he’s somewhat more educated than the others, maybe Uni, he thinks. “No one said nothin’ about killing no one.”

“He won’t die, calm yourself you twat,” Sweetie replies in a low voice. Yes, definitely faking his speech to some degree. “When the Minister comes we’ll let ‘im go.”

D’Artagnan sees that Aramis has also caught their conversation and they exchange a quick glance, and d’Artagnan also assures him with a tip of his head that he’s fine. Aramis, bless him, looks over all the children carefully and talks to each one individually, trying his best to give them courage. For someone who’d never wanted kids of his own he truly has a gift with them, d’Artagnan thinks, grateful that Aramis is in there with him, because is in no shape to keep the children safe if it all goes sideways. 

When Aramis is done with the students, he requests permission to look over the adults who appear to be more terrified than the children. The nurse that patched him up, Reina she tells them is her name, gives Aramis a quick assessment of the adults, that include one diabetic, one epileptic and one teacher with asthma and once again, d’Artagnan is impressed by her calm demeanour and professionalism.

“Aside from lad with the gunshot wound, we’ve got two people who will soon need their daily medication and one asthmatic who could have an attack at any time,” Aramis warns their captors, returning to d’Artagnan’s side. He checks his blood pressure again and the dressings and he doesn’t look pleased.

“I need to get you out of here,” Aramis tells him in his ear while checking his head.

“No,” d’Artagnan whispers. “Not leaving her!” he hisses, meaning of course Marie.

Aramis adjusts the drip and sits down on the floor beside d’Artagnan. “You need to contact whoever is in charge outside and tell them to hurry this along, or your prize hostage won’t make it,” he tells their captors firmly, “he needs surgery, without it, he could die.”

“Call them,” Dumbo hisses, clearly becoming unravelled, and d’Artagnan is sure they’ve found an ally.  
Beretta curses and picks up the phone.

 

****************************************

 

“Apparently according to the ‘medic’ d’Artagnan needs to be hospitalised as soon as possible,” Athos explains when he finishes with his phone call. “Either that or Aramis is playing up his situation to move things along faster. They want to see Louis, that is their only demand, nothing else.”

The surveillance van has become their makeshift command centre and both Constance and Porthos are laser focused on the monitors that are streaming the CCTV cameras, both wound tight with worry.

“Yes well, we’re still waiting on Treville to let us know what Louis will decide. Knowing him though, he’ll refuse,” Constance says fearfully. “Aramis may be exaggerating somewhat but the truth is d’Artagnan doesn’t look well at all,” she tells Athos grimly. “He’s barely recovered from the last time, I can’t believe this is happening again.”

“I’m calling Treville, I can’t wait any longer,” Porthos says, frustrated. 

“Give him a bit longer, brother, if he hasn’t called it’s because he’s still negotiating with Louis,” Athos says, feeling just as anxious as Constance and Porthos. Marie, Aramis and d’Artagnan as well as many other innocent lives are in imminent danger, but Athos knows they need to stay calm to see this through. They’ve all been to hell and back together, but this time there are children involved, and one of their own children as well, and Athos knows they need to keep their wits about them.

“Have you spoken to Ellie?” Athos asks Porthos, worried that she might hear about the situation from the media. Although Athos has declared a media blackout the area residents and parents of other students will surely spread the news themselves via social media.

Porthos nods. “She’s on her way here with our neighbour, I don’t even know what I’m gonna tell ‘er,” he says wearily. 

One of the back doors of the van opens, startling the three of them as well at the two techs and Athos reaches for his weapon but leaves it holstered when he sees it’s Treville. The older man joins them, sitting on one of the folding stools, is expression grim.

“Louis refuses to come. He says, as you predicted,” he tells Athos, “that ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’. I’m here to represent him, unofficially, since he thinks we should storm the school and I of course, wholeheartedly disagree. How many are there, and do they have a leader or spokesperson?”

“Are you telling me that the Minister doesn’t care that there are children inside that school?” Porthos roars. There’s not enough room for him to stand or move around and he looks like a caged bear, Athos thinks, ready to attack. “My child is in there, she’s six years old, if anything happens to her I swear to God I will…”

“Pothos, please,” Constance says imploringly, laying a firm hand on his arm. “I’m just as worried as you are, but let’s see if they’ll talk to Treville, alright? Then we’ll decide how to proceed.”

“She’s right, brother. Constance, there’s a coffee shop right at the corner, take Porthos and ring Ellie to meet you there while Treville and I make the call,” Athos tells her softly, feeling all of their fear and apprehension but steeling himself to keep his emotions in check.

Porthos looks from Athos to Treville and then silently follows Constance out of the van. When the doors are shut behind them, Athos immediately turns to Treville.

“Sir, d’Artagnan is in bad way, Aramis says we need to get him out. It’s possible he’s exaggerating somewhat for the benefit of their captors but I’ve been watching him on the monitors and it’s obvious he can barely focus. Those bastards have shot him and pistol whipped him…repeatedly,” Athos says, seething. “There’s also the chance that Marie will accidentally give Aramis away, as she did with d’Artagnan, because the poor thing is terrified and forced to watch them heap abuse of her ‘uncles’.”

Treville nods, his expressions tense. “Get them on the phone, who have you been speaking with?”

“Two men, one is called Chris, the other James. They’re demanding to see Louis over the problems facing returning combat veterans, since their numerous attempts to contact him apparently, by mail, email, phone and personal appearance have all been ignored by the Minister’s office. The honest truth is that they have a point; the number of homeless and jobless ex-servicemen is astounding and they must feel utterly desperate if they’ve resorted to hostage-taking. Of course it doesn’t excuse their actions; storming a school is a sure-fire way to get the government’s attention but putting innocent lives at stake is inexcusable.”

Treville nods, his eyes glued to the feed of the classroom, where both men observe Aramis checking d’Artagnan’s blood pressure while the younger man’s head hangs limply forward.

“Their actions are certainly inexcusable, but so are Louis’. He blatantly ignores many of the issues brought before him, as if he were living in some alternate universe where everything is perfect,” Treville says, clearly frustrated. “Ring them now, that boy looks done for, we need to get him out.”

Athos dials the number without any further delay and hands the phone to Treville. On the monitor they see that it’s Chris who answers – Athos can tell by his body type since they are all still wearing masks and dressed identically in boiler suits and boots – and he hopes that Treville will be able to convince them to speak with him in Louis’ place.

Treville’s conversation with Chris is brief; he’s agreed to speak to Treville only if he goes into the school. Otherwise, there’s no deal.

“Sir, it’s possible they won’t allow you to leave. I’m not sure if I should let you go,” Athos says, worried.

Treville scoffs. “Of course I’m going. I’ve been playing this game for a long time, Athos, I know what I’m getting myself into. You worry about Porthos and Constance, they may be calm at the moment but as this drags on they will both begin to unravel, trust me.”

Athos nods slowly. “Alright, let me get you a vest at least.”

Treville shakes his head. “Don’t bother, lad, if they want me dead they’ll just shoot me in the head,” Treville says grimly. “I’m going to appeal to them as one soldier to another, and I’ll take it from there. Hopefully I’ll be able to convince them to let the children and d’Artagnan go, as a gesture of good will, maybe that will get Louis down here, I can only try.”

Athos looks back to the monitor and asks one of the techs, a young lad called Tei, if he can zoom in on d’Artagnan. 

“I can’t actually zoom, because I can’t control the cameras inside but I can take a screen grab and enhance it,” the young man explains.

“Aright, do that,” Athos says and when it’s done, Treville and Athos get a better look at d’Artagnan, who looks to be in very bad shape. 

“I’m going now, Athos,” Treville says firmly, ring them and tell them that I’m coming in.”

Athos nods and picks up the phone.

 

****************************************

 

When Aramis had woken up that morning the last thing he’d expected was to be involved in a mad hostage situation involving Porthos’ little girl and a (yet again!) seriously injured d’Artagnan. 

He and Constance had left before dawn for a meeting in Reading with an informant while the rest of the new Team 3 was working surveillance on the suspects themselves. Athos had gotten a tip regarding a domestic terror cell and the Team had been working round the clock to prevent them from launching an attack. Leaving the investigation in the middle was something that Aramis was loath to do but God himself could not have kept him from returning to London the minute Athos had let them know what was happening at St. Mary’s. 

Once he was assured via the video feed that little Marie was unharmed, all his focus switched to d’Artagnan, who was now seriously injured for the second time in less than a year. He knows firsthand how long it had taken the lad to regain his full physical strength as well as his emotional stability, and here there are, poised to watch him go through it all over again. This time around though d’Artagnan had done everything by the book and for that Aramis was very proud of the younger man. He’d secured the door, protected the children and done everything in his power to keep them safe from the men who’d stormed in, despite the eight-against-one odds. He desperately wants to pull the lad close to have him lean on him but he knows he has to be careful to not let on that they share any kind of personal relationship, such a mistake could be fatal for all of them.

Marie, to her credit, had not said a word when he’d walked in the door, and when he’d checked her over for injures he’d reminded her quietly about keeping secrets, something he knows Porthos has discussed with her many times, out of necessity. The little girl was so traumatised over the dead bodies and d’Artagnan’s dire state that she didn’t need to be told twice to keep silent. She’d met Aramis’ concerned gaze with tear-filled eyes but kept completely quiet and still while her Uncle ‘Mis examined her for any physical injuries. The psychological ones would have to be dealt with later, he thinks grimly, for the moment getting everyone out of St. Mary’s safely is Aramis’ only focus.

From the minute he’d entered the school Aramis had been sizing up his opponents and aside from the one who’d wanted him to see to the children, the other three seem ruthless, dangerous and desperate. The tall one who’d been concerned about the children was definitely not fully on board with the violence so Aramis focuses on the other three while they wait to see what Athos has planned. D’Artagnan is weakening though, his moments of lucidity becoming less and less and Aramis makes a decision.

“Can I ask what this is all about? Because if anyone here is going to die for a cause I think we deserve to know at least why,” Aramis says with as much sincerity as he can muster under the circumstances, since he truly doesn’t give a toss about their cause, only saving lives.

The man who Athos had pointed out as Chris, the negotiator, swings around to him and practically growls. “Keep yer mouth shut, mate, or I’ll shut it for ya.”

Aramis raises both hands in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, I’m just civil servant, working a shift job, hoping to get home in time for tea. But these people are going to need food, water and the loo, and this one,” he says, indicating d’Artagnan who is slumped against the wall his eyes screwed shut, but conscious, “is going to be worm fodder if this doesn’t end soon. You never know, maybe I can help?”

Chris moves slowly and comes to stand in front of him. “Unless you and the fuckin’ Minister of Defense are besties you can’t ‘elp so shut it.”

Aramis cocks his head. “Louis Bourbon? The curly-haired guy? I’ve seen him on the telly, he seems like an ok bloke, what’s your beef with him?”

“My beef is that ‘e sends soldiers to hell on earth and when they get back they end up homeless and jobless because there’s no one to ‘elp them,” Chris says with barely controlled fury. He moves closer to Aramis and points his weapon directly at him. “ ‘ow could you possibly understand?” he hisses.

Aramis nods because he certainly does understand. He’s been a soldier, and like d’Artagnan and Constance who’ve also seem combat, he fully comprehends what it’s like to be in a war zone and then be expected to simply put it behind them, _compartmentalise_ , one of his superiors had told him once after a difficult kill; a high-profile enemy combatant that Aramis had taken out with one shot to the back of the head while man had been holding his infant child. 

“Outside, the boss, he told me this lad was a soldier,” Aramis says carefully, “one of your own, maybe you could let him go? He’s in a bad way.”

One of the others surges forward – the one with the assault rifle - and gives Aramis a swift kick to his side beneath his ribs which leaves him momentarily breathless and dizzy. “ ‘es not one of us, and even if he was he killed our mate!”

There’s a few loud gasps and someone is sobbing quietly, one of the parents or teachers maybe because the children are miraculously quiet. When Aramis regains his breath he looks over at d’Artagnan who has either passed out or is playing possum because his eyes are shut and he’s slumped sideways awkwardly. Ignoring his captors he quickly checks for a pulse and when he finds one he measures his brother’s blood pressure which has now fallen dangerously low. 

“I’ve got to tend to him, alright?” he says flatly and doesn’t wait for permission to change the almost empty bag of fluid for a full one and gives the lad another quick examination for any evidence of a brain bleed. The bashing he’s taken to the head worries Aramis more than the gunshot wound, especially since d’Artagnan doesn’t react at all to his examination. There’s no way he’s faking it, the medic realizes, frightened.

When he’s finished, Aramis pulls d’Artagnan to lean against him, more concerned with keeping him alive than keeping up appearances. When Athos and the others see all of this from the cameras hopefully they’ll understand that things have become desperate.

“You said he killed your mate but I saw four bodies in the classroom next door when you brought me in,” Aramis says cautiously.

“Hired thugs,” the one who’d kicked him says disgustedly. “No honour and too stupid to take out one idiot boy with a gun,” he growls. “But Andy was one of us, ‘e’d done four tours in Afghan and ‘is thanks was a crappy pension and a bed-sit with no ‘eat in the dead of winter.”

“Like I said, the boss told me he was a soldier, SAS as a matter of fact, so he was probably in Afghan as well. If he killed your mate it was to protect the kids,” Aramis reasons.

“Yeah well, if Louis cares about his little toy soldier, ‘e ‘ad better show up sooner than later!”

At that moment, the landline in the classroom rings and Chris quickly moves to answer it. He exchanges a few words with who Aramis assumes is Athos and then he tells the one tall one and the one with the automatic weapon to go to the door and escort someone in. Aramis doubts it’s Louis, but whoever it is, he hopes he has enough negotiating power to get d’Artagnan out of there pronto.

Coming soon....

Treville tries his hand at negotiating a way out, Athos kits-up (for Hsg in full body armour mate!) expecting the worst and Constance and Porthos who have the most to lose are forced to simply observe and are expected to stay calm. Meanwhile, things heat up for Aramis and d'Artagnan, who is not doing very well....


	3. Chapter 3

This is not Treville’s first rodeo, but it’s the first time he’s going into a hostage situation that involves three people he’d become way too close to over the years. It’s something he’s spent years trying to tell his subordinates; do not get personally involved, avoid close personal relationships with your colleagues, keep a professional distance at all times. It had never worked for him and it had certainly never worked for this lot, who thankfully no longer all work together on a regular basis since their continued daily interaction and their personal feelings were a recipe for complete and total disaster. 

As it stands, only Aramis and Constance are together regularly, and Treville has always considered them to be the most level-headed of the Team to begin with. Porthos wears his heart on his sleeve, d’Artagnan is a loose cannon at the best of times and Athos hides behind a staid and stoic facade that crumbles easier than a sandcastle at high tide if someone he loves is in danger. But for all their faults, they’d been the best Team the Agency had ever put together and he’d been very disappointed when they’d decided to dismantle. As for the five of them as a ‘family’, well nothing has changed there, the idiots are still tripping over each other to throw themselves in front of a live grenade to keep the others safe, and Treville is secretly glad that they have each other. What they do, well it’s a lonely existence for the most part, since letting strangers into their lives beyond casual friendships and acquaintances is almost impossible.

When he’s searched and then escorted by the two masked me into the classroom his is utterly relieved to see that the children appear to be as calm and safe as he’d seen on the cameras. Aramis has d’Artagnan leaning against him, and the boy is covered in dried blood and appears completely unresponsive. There are two more men in the room and the one who called himself Chris moves forward and pushes Treville into a chair.

“So you’re Treville, special adviser to the Minister of Defence on matters of intelligence,” he says slowly.

Treville nods. “Yes exactly, and I’m here to speak to you on his behalf since the Minister himself is not in London at the moment.”

“And just where is his majesty, _at the moment,_ ” the one called James sneers. “because we’ve been trying to speak to ‘im for over a year and every time we’re told ‘he’s not available at the moment’ of ‘he’s out of the country at this time’,” James says, mimicking Louis’ pompous private secretary, a man Treville dislikes as well for his haughty attitude. 

“I understand your frustration, I was a soldier myself for many years, a Captain to a fine company of men, men like yourselves,” he says sincerely. “I also know that soldiers in Her Majesty’s Forces do not harm innocents, especially children, so I will ask you to let the children and the lad with the gunshot wound go so that we can negotiate without the added pressure of their well-being.”

“Out of the fucking question!” the man with the automatic rifle growls, moving forward. “Our only bargaining chips are those kiddies and that Musketeer over there,” he hisses. “Yeah, we know who ‘e is and I know we’ve got Porthos’ kid in ‘ere as well, and they’re not goin’ anywhere until our demands are met!”

Treville nods slowly and considers his next move carefully. “How do you know who Porthos is?” he asks all four of them.

“We’re squaddies, remember? I was stationed at Whitehall for a few months, I’ve 'eard rumours about the famous Team 3 like everyone else, The Musketeers they called themselves. This fool mentioned Porthos all by 'Imself, when he was talking to the little girl. He’s d’Artagnan, but you probably already know that, the girl gave it away by accident,” Chris says, indicating the lad who continued to lean heavily on the tense Aramis. Fortunately, Treville notes, it appears that they have no idea who the medic really is. “There was a rumour that Porthos of Team 3 transferred to Counter-terrorism after that whole Rochefort fiasco, squaddies gossip, even though they’re not supposed to. When I saw ‘im on the news I realized I’d seen ‘im at Whitehall, put two and two together, it wasn’t ‘ard.”

“Well then if you know about Team 3 you know they’re former soldiers, I’d expect you lads to treat them with more care than you have so far. Let the children go, including Porthos’ little girl and d’Artagnan, since he appears to be very badly injured,” Treville tries again.

“Let me ask you something, Captain,” Chris says, using Treville’s title, something that the older man considers a plus; he sees Treville as a soldier now, and not just some bureaucrat and he must use that to his advantage. “When you pensioned out, what did you do...after? Did you have a 'ome to return to? A family? A fancy job waiting for you?”

Treville schools his features carefully. “No, none of that. I came back from the conflict zone, as you did, with no guaranteed prospects, I worked my way up the ladder in the MoD, one rung at a time,” he lies smoothly, because the truth is that he returned from Kuwait to begin his new position with Serge, Spears and Wilton as Agency Team 3. But only after 15 gruelling years in the rank and file of the military, serving in the hottest deserts on the planet and an honourable discharge for a serious injury. And he truly did work his way up the ranks at Whitehall, beginning with combat, then in Team 3, later as leader of Team 3 before finally landing this new advisory position. 

“I understand your frustration. You told my colleague, the one you’ve been negotiating with over the phone, that you want to see Louis Bourbon to discuss the problems of returning combat veterans. It would be my honour to discuss all of these valid issues on behalf of Minister Bourbon and then relay your requests to him.”

“This is a joke,” the man with the automatic rifle says furiously. “Your honour? Where was the honour when we came back, injured, broken, homeless. Do you know 'ow many of my fellow soldiers have committed suicide? Too many to count and the officials numbers are bollocks! The Charities do what they can but the government does not! We need better quality health care, mental health care, job training and a decent place to live. We don’t want anythin' for free, all we want is a chance to integrate back into society, to find proper jobs to top up our pensions and live with dignity!” 

“Everything you’re asking for is reasonable, but this is not the way to go about it!” Treville replies, frustrated because their demands are valid, but they’ve taken 30 people hostage, including children, and shot and beaten a fellow soldier. “Do you have a manifesto of your demands, something tangible I can give the Minister to consider?”

Chris nods. “Yes, we do…” he begins but the man with the automatic weapon baulks. 

“No way, mate, ‘e comes here and gets it ‘imself, has a face to face with us or else no deal. And if he doesn’t show up in the next hour, we start shooting hostages, starting with your Musketeer. If he was a squaddie, he’s willing to die for ‘is country and ‘is fellow soldiers, isn’t ‘e?” he says sarcastically.

The tall man who escorted Treville into the school surges forward. “That’s not what we agreed, Liam! I’m not killing anyone, especially not one of ours!” he says angrily and he rips off his mask and tosses it aside. “Corporal Matthew Turner, sir,” he tells Treville, standing at attention. “I’ve got a bum leg from an IED in Iraq and I agreed to this because I 'aven’t been able to find a proper job after 5 years of searching. But I won’t kill that boy,” he says, indicating d’Artagnan, “or anyone else in ‘ere. All I wanted was a decent place to live and a job so I wouldn’t ‘ave to take handouts,” he man says tearfully, putting his gun down on one of the desks.

Before Treville can even reply, the man with the automatic weapon, Liam, swings around and fires one shot, hitting Matthew in the heart, killing him instantly. 

At that moment, all hell breaks loose.

 

**************************************************

 

Inside the surveillance van Athos, Tei and the other tech Danny watch in horror as one of the hostage-takers kills one of his comrades and the parents and children are no longer calm, they are frenzied and terrified.

“Right, you, Tei, get a pen and paper and write this down,” Athos begins but the young man is looking at him quizzically. 

“Am I speaking Urdu?” Athos asks, with typical Athos sarcasm.

“Um, no sir, paper and pen?”

Athos lets out a frustrated breath. “How do you lot write things down?”

Tei clears his throat. “We use our electronic devices, sir,” he says nervously.

“Right, then start typing then, you idiot! “I need another van, fully kitted out for Porthos and Constance, the dead man took off his mask, they can run facial recognition and try and find out who he is, who his friends are. One of you get the both of them back here as soon as the van arrives, but not before, understand?” Athos asks carefully as if he’s speaking to small children.

“Yes sir, on it now!” Danny replies and he’s on the phone requesting the van before Athos takes another breath. Good lad, he thinks, and he turns back to Tei. “You, get me d’Artagnan’s unit in here asap, I want to speak to Ryder personally, and I need a full kit for myself, uniform, boots, weapons, comms, everything that unit has on their person at all times, and I need it yesterday, understand?”

Tei is stilling typing it all up and he stutters a ‘yes sir’ and gets Ryder, one of the men in d’Artagnan’s unit on comms, tells him what they need and says that he wants it yesterday. Athos almost smiles at that, but he’s too riled up with fear to do so. 

“Um, sir? Tei asks tentatively, “what size boots do you wear?” 

“Nine and a half…are they still not here?” Athos says sternly, but waves his hand at the young man to continue his communication with Ryder. D’Artagnan’s unit is made up of himself as commander, Ryder, Beetle and Mouse. D’Artagnan had insisted on keeping his old code name since there was no way he’d be able to get used to anything else at this point, he’d explained to the others, and Porthos had allowed it. Athos knows they work well together, the other lads are also ex-military, two of them SAS, and Mouse Royal Navy, and although they are all in their mid-thirties they don’t have a problem deferring to d’Artagnan who is more experienced than they are in the field of Counter-terrorism and espionage.

There’s two short raps on the back door of the van and the Ryder jumps in, half of what Athos had requested in his hands. Ryder is a good lad, always with a smile on his face and always willing to go the extra mile. He’s the son of Somali immigrants, something that had originally caused friction for him in SAS and even more in Counter-terrorism, him being a practising Muslim, and he’d worked twice as hard to gain the respect of his colleagues, something Athos thinks is wholly unfair but fully understands, and he’s become highly regarded among management at the MoD.

“Beetle’s gone to get you one of his uniforms and his extra boots since you’re the same size. Should I assume you’re taking d’Artagnan’s place for the moment?”

Athos takes the weapons, clips and comms equipment and sets them down beside Tei. “Yes, Porthos and Constance are too close to this and Aramis, as you know, is already inside with Treville. I’ll be in charge of all units moving in. We no longer have a choice; as of yet, Louis won’t come and they’ve shot one of their own,” Athos explains grimly and has Tei replay the video of the shooting. 

“Ryder, d’Artagnan’s in a bad way, this needs to go off without a hitch so we can get him to hospital and get the children out safely as soon as possible. Have you found a way in?”

Ryder nods slowly. ‘Sir, getting in is not the problem. That wanker with the automatic assault weapon is. Even if we kick in the door, go in guns blazing, he can take out the entire room in a few seconds. We need to let Aramis and Treville know we’re coming in and we need that arsehole neutralised the second the door opens. What do you suggest?”

Athos leans back against the cold metal wall of the van and nods slowly. “I think I know how we can manage at least part of that.”

 

*****************************************

 

Porthos, Constance and a surprisingly calm Ellie are sitting in the second van, searching for the identity of the dead man using a program that Constance herself had helped to create. Outside, local police have set up a marquis and brought folding chairs and tables for the parents of the children inside the school and the family members of the teachers and the staff. It’s freezing, but to the one, they insist on remaining until the situation is resolved. Constance can’t blame them, she herself is barely keeping herself calm and professional. If anything were to happened to either Marie or d’Artagnan, the blow would have an equal impact on her; if anything were to happen to both, well she doesn’t even want to think of that at this point.

She wants to be angry with d’Artagnan but this time, she’d only very fucking proud. He did everything as he’d been trained to do and none of what happened after was his fault. Her heart is literally cracking as she considers what a recovery from yet another gunshot would will mean for him, physically, because psychologically, well now she’s by his side and there is no way in hell she’d ever let him to go through that alone again. He’d promised her he’d change and he’s stuck to that promise. Porthos had told her many times, in secret of course, that he was evolving into one of the best and most reliable commanders his section has even seen. These words had come from his boss, Sylvie, a tough as nails former forensics expert who’s been running the Counter-terrorism section for the past five years. Her praise is not given lightly and she’d practically heaped it on d’Artagnan, who has been nothing but professional since day one. 

Athos has come up with a brilliant plan to let the others inside know that they are planning to breach. After the dead man had been dragged out and his blood cleaned up by two uniformed ladies that Constance had assumed were cleaning staff, Athos rang and suggested that food and water be delivered, very careful not to give away that they’d seen the murder that had just taken place. After what appeared on the monitor to be a tense negotiation, the one called Chris rang Athos back and agreed. He also reluctantly asked for a thermal blanket for the unresponsive d’Artagnan, which is not a good sign. Constance had felt herself slip into panic mode for one brief moment but Ellie, bless her, had managed to calm her down with soothing platitudes and a tight hug. 

The food was to arrive in plain cartons with no logos whatsoever and Athos had Tei print up labels that said ‘Norton’s Finest Pub Grub’ which should jog Treville’s and Aramis’ memories to a hostage situation in a town called Norton where Constance and Athos had been grabbed on a mission and coded messages were sent into the pub where they were being held on the food cartons. But in that situation, their captors weren’t English speakers so it had been easy to let Athos and Constance know to be ready for a breach. This time they would have to rely on their brothers remembering that town and that situation because anything hand written would certainly be scrutinised by former soldiers. 

Athos is kitted-up and ready to lead the assault, but they are still making attempts to persuade Louis – via a tireless Lemay – to come to the scene since Treville is one of his favourites, while searching for the identities of the men inside, in hopes that they could use something, anything, in their past or present, such a family member, to help coax the men to surrender on their own. All five of former Team 3 had military training, but only d’Artagnan, Aramis and herself had ever seen live combat, and she understands these men, she feels for them, but she certainly doesn’t approve of their methods. 

Porthos’ personal assistant, Ben, has arrived from Whitehall and he is a gem. He’s been making sure that Ellie has everything she needs for her nasty cold, has ordered sandwiches and hot drinks for the families waiting in the marquis and supplied everyone on site – Porthos’ men, local police, techs and themselves of course, with food and endless cups of coffee and just about anything that anyone requests appears almost instantly. So with every aspect of the situation under control and the food for the hostages on its way, Constance’s main concern at this point is d’Artagnan, who seemed to react to the sound of the gunshot but moments later fell heavily against Aramis like dead weight, she noted, which meant he’d lost consciousness once more. Thank God for Aramis, she thinks fiercely; another medic would have done his job but Aramis will give his all to keep his brother-in-arms alive.

“Constance, I’ve got a hit!” Porthos says, his expression hopeful for the first time that day, Constance notes.  
“The dead man was Corporal Matthew Turner and from his social media, phone records and military records I’ve got a list of 15 possibles for the other three,” he says triumphantly. “Take half and I’ll take the other half and let’s see if they really are called Chris and James and if we can figure out who our murderer is,” he continues, more subdued, as he refers to the man who’d killed his own comrade.

“Do you think any of this will make a difference?” Ellie asks tentatively.

Porthos nods affirmatively. “In lots cases like this we’re able to get family members to talk ‘em down,” he tells his wife kindly, obviously trying to appease her fears.

Constance starts on her list of names and hopes to God that Porthos is right; time is slowly running out for d’Artagnan and with every moment that passes their captors become more and more desperate and unhinged. This is a fact that she doesn’t need statistics or experts to confirm, she's watching it happen, first hand.

 

*****************

 

D’Artagnan opens his eyes slowly to finds a very tense Aramis wrapping him gently in a blanket.

“There you go, lad,” he says, with false cheerfulness. “What did you say your name was?”

It takes d’Artagnan a moment to realise what Aramis is on about, but it hits him like a freight train when the pain in his side and the throbbing of his head remind him that his brother is playing the role of a completely clueless paramedic. 

“I didn’t actually say,” he replies dully. “Ugh, is that food?” he says, wrinkling his nose at the smell of hot sandwiches and chips.

Aramis nods. “You need to eat some crackers and drink some water, but nothing more than that because you’ll need surgery,” Aramis tells him patiently, opening a package of crackers and handing one to d’Artagnan.

“No please, water only,” he says pleadingly and Aramis nods and puts the crackers aside carefully, probably for later he realizes, which means that Aramis is thinking ahead, just in case.

“The food is from Norton’s Pub, have you ever been there?” Aramis asks him pointedly and d’Artagnan has no idea what he’s referring to.

“It’s just a few streets down, they make fantastic burgers, we ate there once, when my cousins came on holiday from Russia, we had a blast, way too much to drink though,” Aramis is saying, while taking his pulse. 

D’Artagnan’s brain is sluggish but he is starting to recall something. Only the pub was called Sully’s and the town was Norton and the Russians were the bad guys. Right, get ready for a breach, he thinks proudly, as if remembering such an important mission where Constance and Athos had been in mortal danger is a tremendous achievement. 

“I think I’ve seen it, passed it on my bike once, it’s got little red tables out front, yeah?” he replies slowly.

“Yes, that’s the one!” Aramis says with a big grin and tucks the blanket more carefully around the shivering d’Artagnan.

“It’s the blood loss,” Aramis tells him regretfully. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you lad.”

D’Artagnan had never doubted that fact but he’s having a hard time dealing with the pain, the cold and the confusion. He’s already refused pain relief, twice, because when they come for them he needs to be on his toes and do his part.

The children, d’Artagnan notes, are being coaxed into eating the sandwiches by a calm Ms. Robbins and the parents are being served by the nurse Reina, and the lot of them seem dazed and terrified. There are two cleaners, four casually dressed women that he assumes are parents, three men in sports coats so probably teachers and two more women, also dressed smartly, also teachers and d’Artagnan recognises one of them as the assistant Headmistress. Aside from Reina, none of the others seem capable of doing anything more than cowering in the corner.

D’Artagnan remembers earlier being jerked awake by the sound of a gunshot, the hostage-taker he’d been calling Dumbo dead in a puddle of blood. He is utterly in the dark as to what brought that on, but furious as well because he was a fellow soldier, and the only one of them who seemed to give a crap about the children’s welfare. Before he even had a chance to react to the shocking development, Aramis had him in a tight grip and was hissing in his ear to stay still and stay silent. At some point though he must have lost consciousness again and when he opened his eyes a few minutes ago the body was gone and the classroom was free from blood.

He doesn’t react when he sees Treville for the first time, seated at the teacher’s desk, picking at a paper plate of sandwiches and looking very frustrated and particularly dishevelled. D’Artagnan looks back to Aramis who is also picking at his plate. “Does Treville know?” he whispers to his brother.

Whitey and Beretta have cups of coffee in their hands and are speaking quietly to each other while Sweetie has the ever-present and daunting automatic assault rifle in his hands and pointed at the adults. 

Before Aramis can reply, Sweetie swings around and points the barrel of his weapon at d’Artagnan. “Enough talking, you stupid git, or I’ll blow another hole in you.”

Aramis baulks immediately. “He’s in pain, he just asked if I could put something in the drip,” he tells Sweetie coldly, and d’Artagnan braces himself for a possible physical attack on himself or his brother.

“Liam, leave them alone, the boy can’t hurt anyone,” Beretta says sternly, and it’s clear to d’Artagnan that the dynamics have shifted while he was out of it.

“James is right,” Treville dares to add. “The lad is badly injured, if he asks for pain relief, it’s the least you can do for a fellow soldier. Chris, give the medic some more water bottles, that boy looks like he’s half dead and that is not an outcome anyone here is aiming for.”

D’Artagnan realises that Treville is using their names, probably gleaned from the phone conversations and whatever had transpired while he was unconscious, on purpose, for easier communication when the shit hits the fan. D’Artagnan doesn’t think Whitey, who he now knows is Chris and Beretta, who is called James, will engage in a firefight, not at this point at least, but Liam in a loose cannon and Porthos and Athos will expect the three of them to do their part to either distract him or disarm him when they storm the school.

Marie, bless her, is sitting quietly with the other children, drinking from a juice box, her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks pink from crying. D’Artagnan desperately wants to speak to her, to let her know that he’s fine and that everything will be alright but he can’t, he’s physically unable to do anything more than keep his head up straight and speaking to her will only draw attention to the little girl, which at the moment is d’Artagnan’s biggest fear. If there’s a breach and a firefight, Liam might target Marie, out of spite, and revenge. 

A terrible thought hits him at once, one almost as horrible as the rest that have been running through his muddled brain; what if Constance doesn’t know what happened and how it happened, will she blame him again, accuse him of being reckless and irresponsible? Will she walk away from him, this time for good? The thought leaves him overwhelmed and he reacts physically, his whole body going rigid, the small movement causing ripples of pain and he gasps and rolls slightly away from Aramis and curls into himself.

Aramis is on his knees in a flash. Treville rises from his seat but is pushed back down by Chris.

“What’s going on with ‘m?” Chris barks out to Aramis, sounding more fearful than angry. A murmur has gone up amongst the adults and some of the children are crying again.

“Lad, tell me what’s happening,” Aramis says urgently, taking d’Artagnan’s face in both hands, his expression terrified. D’Artagnan is in too much pain to reply, but he tries to assure Aramis that he his alright, well at least as alright one can be with a gunshot wound and a concussion.

“Quiet!” Liam screams and the room goes silent. D’Artagnan feels a new kind of fear; Liam is very quickly becoming more and more unhinged and could explode at any moment. D’Artagnan finds his voice and assures Aramis that he’s ok. “Nothing worse, just pain,” he says slowly, carefully choosing his words.

“I think it’s time for pain relief, lad, you can’t continue like this,” Aramis says cautiously, checking his pulse, his pupils, and around his ears, again looking for any telltale signs of a brain bleed.

“Out of the question,” he replies at once, but the tear that escapes doesn’t help his cause.

Aramis sits back on his heels, his expression furious. “This has gone on long enough,” he says coldly, addressing Chris and James who are standing by Treville. “If he doesn’t get help, he’ll die! Do you want his death to be your legacy? You’re fighting for a cause, a good one, I sympathise with you, truly I do, but if this boy dies it will be murder, plain and simple!”

Neither man reacts but Liam proves d’Artagnan right about his state of mind when he yanks Aramis up with one arm around his throat, dragging him to his feet. He pushes him against the wall, slamming his head back against the brick surface and puts the barrel of his weapon against his chest. If looks could kill Liam would have been a corpse on the spot because d’Artagnan sees that his brother is not afraid, he is _furious_.

“If ‘e dies, I will kill you…slowly,” Liam hisses, “and don’t doubt that I know a dozen ways to do that.”

“If he dies, the wrath of her Majesty’s entire government will come down on you first, trust me,” Aramis replies fearlessly.

Before the situation can escalate, Chris reacts. “Let him go, Liam, now,” he says in a deadly calm tone. Treville looks like he’s ready to pounce and d’Artagnan wonders if this is their chance; if either Treville or Aramis makes a move, he’s sure he can tackle James, who’s standing just a few feet away from him, his weapon hanging loosely in his right hand, his body stiff with fear.

The entire room is frozen in terror and then slowly, Liam pulls back his weapon and lets Aramis go. His brother looks ready to kill the soldier with his bare hands but Treville must have weighed the odds and decided it’s not the time. “Let the medic see to the lad,” his former boss says quietly, and Chris moves forward and takes Aramis by the arm and pulls him away from Liam. Aramis takes careful steps towards d’Artagnan, his eyes never leaving Liam, until he’s back by his side.

When Aramis is on his knees beside him once more, James comes close and leans over. “Yer not just a medic, are you?” he says quietly, his gaze going back to Chris and Liam who are speaking to each other in hushed but angry tones.

Aramis meets his gaze, his expression taut, but he doesn’t answer the question. He turns his attention back to d’Artagnan who is now feeling much worse than he has at any point since this all began.

“Brother, I’m not…I’m not doin’ so good,” he tells Aramis, his tongue tripping over the words, and he doesn’t realise he’s addressed Aramis in the familiar, endearing way. 

Aramis goes rigid. “I need more fluids,” he barks out loudly, pulling away the blanket. He gently takes d’Artagnan’s arm out of his jacket and slides on the blood pressure cuff.

“That’s not a good idea,” Reina says, raising her arms high and getting to her feet slowly. Chris nods to her to come forward even as Liam trains his weapon on her.

“Why?” Aramis asks, confused.

“I’m doing a course in trauma, on field treatment of severe wounds before hospitalisation,” she explains. “And the newest research leans away from too much fluid replacement before A&E treatment.”

Aramis nods slowly. “Indeed, but his blood pressure warrants more fluids, what do you suggest?” Aramis says, obviously deferring to her expertise. 

Reina kneels down beside d’Artagnan, who just wants to shut his eyes for a few moments, but now has two people poking at him. She checks the dressings, does her own examination and rocks back on her heels.

“I suggest they let him go immediately,” she replies tersely. “He’s in grave danger.”

D’Artagnan is having a very difficult time concentrating. He understands things are bad, that he needs help beyond what Aramis and Reina can offer, but there’s something he needs to tell Aramis, urgently.

“Brother, I’ve got to tell you something,” he slurs, reaching out one hand towards Aramis, his fingers grabbing ineffectually at his uniform shirt. 

“Reina, give us a moment,” Aramis says hastily, “distract them,” he adds in a hushed whisper.

Reina nods knowingly and rises carefully and begins to explain d’Artagnan’s situation to their captors, giving d’Artagnan his chance to talk to Aramis.

“Tell me, lad,” Aramis says softly, one warm hand cupping d’Artagnan’s face, and he leans into his brother’s gentle touch gratefully, a single tear unwittingly sliding down his face. Aramis wipes it away with his thumb, his expression pained with worry. 

“Promise me you’ll tell Constance that I didn’t do anything stupid,” he says slowly. “Please brother, if she leaves me again I don’t know what…”

“Don’t be a fool!” Aramis hisses, cutting him off. “That will never happen, she’s my partner now, remember? I know all her secrets,” he says encouragingly with a grin.

“But she won’t know for sure if you don’t tell ‘er,” he insists. Aramis must promise him, he has to.

“She knows,” Aramis whispers directly into his ear. “And she is so damn proud of you, lad,” he tells him vehemently, pulling back quickly to not arouse suspicion.

D’Artagnan isn’t exactly sure how she could possibly know, but he trusts Aramis with everything; with Constance, with Marie, with the safety of their little family and of course, with his very life.

“Thank you,” he tells Aramis, utterly exhausted. The older man looks devastated, and it should frighten d’Artagnan, but it doesn’t. He’s tired, too fucking tired to worry, and he closes his eyes and leans into Aramis, letting his brother catch him when he falls.

 

To be continued .....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I am NOT a doctor, I just play one on TV LOL, so yeah, some of this is accurate and some is not :)


	4. Chapter 4

“There’s no more time, we’re going in,” Athos tells Ryder tonelessly, doing his utmost to tamp down his terror. 

He’s depending on the fact that Aramis and Treville have gotten his message via the food cartons because they cannot wait even one minute more. Marie and d’Artagnan are their vulnerable hostages; Athos’ decision has nothing to do with his personal feelings, in any situation he’d have made the same choice if the lives of hostages were in imminent danger. The two men had watched in horror as d’Artagnan once again collapsed heavily onto Aramis and Marie had then tried her utmost to get close to him, resulting in an angry reaction from the bastard with the rifle. The young woman who’d patched him up earlier now has d’Artagnan lying across her lap, one hand constantly on his neck, probably at his pulse point. This leaves Aramis free, something that Athos has to assume is deliberate. 

Marie had attempted to break loose from her teacher when d’Artagnan collapsed, but the woman had managed to keep the little girl close and it’s obvious that their little pumpkin, as Constance calls her lovingly, is weeping in the teacher’s embrace. She’d put up a good fight though and Athos sees a lot of her feisty mother in her. As a rule, Athos does not interact with children unless he’s forced to, but this little girl is someone very, very special to his heart, the child of one of his brothers, watching her suffer is not helping his fury. Marie’s impulsive actions had been the cause of some kind of outburst from the man with the automatic weapon; of course they couldn’t tell exactly what had taken place without sound but he’d swung his weapon around threateningly, causing Chris and James to intervene until he’d settled down again. 

Porthos and Constance burst into the surveillance van, obviously having seen the feed from where they were working in the other vehicle and Athos preempts Porthos’ predicted tirade with one hand raised.

“You don’t have to tell me, we’re going in,” Athos tell them firmly. “I’m assuming Aramis knows since he would never give over d’Artagnan’s care to anyone else unless he was expecting us.”

“Chris’ ex-wife and son are on their way,” Constance says dully. “James’ parents are elderly so we didn’t contact them. And Louis won’t budge but Lemay is on his way here, I don’t know how he can help if Treville couldn’t.”

Athos nods. “The family still might be useful, make sure to get me on comms when they show up, same for Lemay, he might have some message from Louis. Ryder, I need both units here now so we can confer.”  
“Roger that,” Ryder says and gives the order via the mic on his shoulder. 

Athos turns to Porthos and Constance. “I need you both to stay calm and take control of the situation out here. I know that expecting you to stay behind and watch is the most difficult thing I’ve ever asked the both of you to do, but you also know that the lives of everyone in that school depend on it, especially Marie’s and d’Artagnan’s since they’re our high-profile hostages.”

Porthos’ hands curl into fists but he simply nods slowly, sinking onto one of the stools. Constance puts one hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “We know, Athos, just as we know that you will do everything in your power to get everyone out safely, hostages, Aramis, Treville, everyone,” she says with confidence, but Athos knows that she’s dying inside. When this is over, he is going to transfer her man to a desk, whether he likes it or not. But knowing d’Aragnan, he’ll probably end up getting hurt trying to stop a robbery at Greggs while waiting for a sausage roll, so what’s the use?

Athos himself has to admit he’s apprehensive as well. He hasn’t done this in a while. Although he knows he is the most competent person available to run this op he hasn’t had to play such a physical role in a while, and although the clothes and the kit feel natural, the assault weapon, the gas mask hanging around his neck and the extra weapons on his thigh and strapped to his body armour feel cumbersome. Most of the more physical missions over the past few years with Team 3 had fallen to the others who were younger and had combat experience. Athos acknowledges that through his position as Senior Agent he’d let himself become a bit rusty and when this is over and his family are all safe, it’s back to bi-weekly training with the new recruits for him.

“Porthos, keep Ellie away from here, leave her in the other vehicle with Ben and cut the feed from the cameras in there. You’re going to need to make some kind of statement to the families at some point, make something up, you’re good at that,” Athos explains to Porthos, with an attempt at a grin, but his mouth refuses to stretch all the way into a proper smile. “Constance, we need a med-evac on standby for d’Artagnan and get another couple of ambulances, there will be traumatised and shocked hostages who’ll need first aid.”

Constance nods and dials emergency services from her cell phone, identifying herself and requesting everything they need. Tei and Danny are silently monitoring the feed and Athos leans over to get one last look at the situation.

“Tei, I am depending on the two of you to be our eyes ones we get inside. If someone sneezes, I’ll need to know, alright?”

“Of course, sir, don’t worry, we won’t let you down,” he tells Athos confidently. 

“Sir, units are waiting outside for you,” Ryder informs him and Athos nods. “Brother,” he says to Porthos, “no matter what the outcome, your little girl will get out of there safely, I swear to you that myself, Aramis, Treville and even our idiot boy will not let anyone touch her, not while we’re still breathing, alright?”

Porthos nods slowly. “I’d like everyone out of there in one piece, mate,” he says simply and Athos gives him that smile he’s been struggling with. 

“I’ll do my best, it’s usually good enough,” he says, reminding Constance and Porthos of all they’ve survived all these years together, and praying that their luck will continue to hold, at least this one last time.

 

************************************************** 

 

With grudging consent from Chris, Aramis is on his feet and rummaging through the bags of supplies he’s brought into the school with him. He removes what appears to be a forehead thermometer but is actually a taser, kept inside of ambulances in high crime areas to protect the paramedics who respond to those parts of the city. He has two of them and he takes both from the bag, aside with some other random items, pretending to be searching for something in particular. He finds some anti-inflammatories and asks Reina her opinion.

“He won’t let me inject him with anything stronger, what do you think, 3 of these?” he asks her, fully aware that Chris is close by and listening.

Reina nods. “Yes, but only if he wakes on his own, his pulse and his breathing are steady, and his blood pressure isn’t optimal but it’s acceptable,” she says quietly, careful not to disturb d’Artagnan. “At this point he’s probably knackered as well, we should let him be for the moment.”

Aramis hands her one of the tasers. “Take this, if he feels too warm or too cool check his temperature with it,” he explains carefully, hoping she will notice it’s not exactly what it appears to be. “You push down on this button here and it starts up immediately, so make sure it’s in position before you press the button.”

Reina takes the device, gives it the once over and nods slowly letting Aramis know just with a look that she knows what it is. Bright girl, Aramis thinks, he needs to tell Athos about her when this is over. 

He puts the second device in the pocket of his uniform jacket. “I’ll use this one to check over the children,” he tells her and then hands her the anti-inflammatories. “Hold on to these for now,” he adds and he packs everything else back into the bag. The drip is finished but Aramis doesn’t remove the cannula he’s inserted because the minute d’Artagnan gets to the hospital it will be needed, so he simply caps it and uses tape to secure it. All the while, d’Artagnan doesn’t stir. 

Aramis carefully examines d’Artagnan’s head wounds; the one on his forehead is taped and no longer bleeding but it’s already turned colours and is swollen. The second one, above his left ear has a bit of clotted blood and some swelling. The one on the back of his head doesn’t have any broken skin but is quite a massive bump. Aramis vows to pistol whip each one of these arseholes when they get out of here, and he doesn’t think that either Athos nor Porthos will stand in his way.

“So Treville, what ‘appens next?” Chris asks their former boss, their captor’s demeanour significantly subdued. “You say the Minister can’t come and the medic says the boy is dying.”

“Yes, I tried to tell you that I represent the Minister when one of your mates killed your other. If you want to talk, let’s begin and I’ll take your manifesto to the Minister. I promise to do everything in my power to make sure the changes you’re requesting are discussed and implemented. Now I suggest we get started because that lad is not going to last very much longer.”

Chris nods slowly. “And then what? You open the back door and let us sneak out?”

Treville looks at him, his expression questioning. “My turn to ask you something; when you lot started this, how did you predict it would end?”

Chris sighs. “Badly,” he replies honestly. “But at least we would have drawn attention to our cause, had our face to face with Louis Bourbon, forced him to listen to what we ‘ad to say, something that hasn’t ‘appened.”

“I will listen to you, I want to listen to you. But to lessen the consequences on the three of you we need to let the boy and the children go. The rest of us will stay until we’ve had our discussion and then I will explain to the Minister that you were cooperative and did everything in your power to end the situation as quickly as possible.”

“Here we go again!” Liam cries out, coming to stand threateningly in front of Treville. Aramis braces himself for the worst, his hand resting inside his jacket on the taser, waiting.

“Liam, just shut the fuck up already…enough! We came ‘ere to make a difference, we’ve all risked our lives and our futures for this, let ‘em talk already!” James tells him furiously.

“Exactly! We’ve risked everything, and I won’t settle for this piss-poor excuse of a bureaucrat. I want Louis in here, or I will start shooting, I’ve got nothing left to lose!” he practically screeches. “If you ‘aven’t figured it out yet, we’re goin’ to prison, mate, and I won’t go easily, I promise you that!”

“If we’re not ‘eard then we have everything to lose, you wanker!” Chris hisses at him furiously. “Everything we’ve given up, and our cause goes down the toilet! Do you even believe in it anymore? You killed Matthew because he exposed his face and because ‘e didn’t want to shoot anyone, if I take off this mask, will you do the same to me?”

“We’re not getting anywhere like this,” James says, intervening and Aramis lets out the breath he’s been holding. James won’t be a problem, he thinks, he and Treville will need to move like lighting on Liam, possibly Chris, when Porthos’ men storm the school; he doubts he needs to tell Treville any of this because the older man is no rookie at this game, which means they are probably thinking the same thing.

“James is right. You will stand down and give me a few minutes to speak to Treville and then we’ll decide what to do,” Chris tells Liam firmly. “It’s all gone bollocks up, if we leave ‘ere with nothing we might as well just surrender now.”

Liam expression is still furious but he remains silent and then simply grunts and moves back to stand against the wall, his weapon on the adults.

“Gents, the children need the loo…urgently,” Ms. Robbins says tentatively. “It’s been hours and they’ve eaten, they can’t wait any longer,” the teacher insists. “They’ve caused you the least trouble of all, it will only take a few minutes.”

Chris sighs loudly. “Fine, but ‘alf at a time so you don’t get any ideas; if you make trouble, you won’t like what will ‘appen to the ones you’ve left behind, yeah?”

Ms. Robbins looks like a woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone, Aramis thinks, but she won’t put the children in danger. She decides to take the boys first and with a stony expression on her face she and the six little boys follow James out of the classroom. Chris has approached Treville and he sits across from Aramis’ former boss, his body tense as he pulls something from inside of his boiler suit, a bunch of A4 papers stapled together and he pushed it across the desk.

“Start reading” he says, “the faster you do, the more chance that boy has of surviving.”

When the situation is diffused and the children file out to the toilet, Aramis moves carefully from where he’d been kneeling beside d’Artagnan and settles himself on Reina’s right side, and watches tersely as Treville takes the papers and starts to skim them. He looks over at d’Artagnan and feels a boulder settle in his belly. The lad’s fear that Constance would leave him again makes him heartsick. Aramis knows he’s not thinking straight, he simply can’t be, not with the pain and the blood loss and with a concussion to boot, but the fact that it crossed his mind leaves him feeling gutted. Constance hadn’t been completely in the wrong when she’d walked away the last time he’d been shot, but there’d been mitigating circumstances then, and the poor girl had regretted it thoroughly. She’d never do that again, certainly not over an injury. Aramis can’t predict the future of their relationship - although he’d bet his precious antique Porsche they’ll grow old together – but if they don’t, it certainly won’t be for the reasons d’Artagnan fears. 

The lad has proven to all of them that he has indeed changed, that he now thinks before he acts and even though he commands his unit he’s clearly more of a team player than he ever was when he was with the Agency. Aramis thinks that his position of authority is the key to the new and improved d’Artagnan, he now sees things as Athos did, and has to make difficult choices that have resulted in this new sense of maturity and responsibility. But still, looking over at his bruised face and his motionless form, Aramis can’t help but see that 24 year-old he’d met way back when, all cheek and brash bravado but underneath still a boy trying to prove himself, and he is furious that after all they’ve been through to keep their country safe, after all the difficult missions and numerous serious injuries, that they might lose him due to the actions of their own, of fellow soldiers. 

“Hey, what’s your name?” Reina asks quietly, one eye on Liam as she speaks. 

“Paul,” Aramis lies smoothly.

“Paul, his pulse has increased somewhat, get the cuff and check his blood pressure.”

Aramis reaches for the cuff that he’d had at his side from the minute he’d entered the classroom and sure enough, he finds that his blood pressure has dipped.

“He needs to be hospitalised,” she says at once when she sees the reading, but Aramis is already bleakly aware of this.

“Do you know him?” Reina asks Aramis in a hushed whisper.

Aramis feels his heart clench at the question. “Probably better than his own mother does,” is his quiet reply. 

“How did he manage all of this?” she asks, indicating the fading scar on his face and then ghosting her fingertips over the blanket where it’s covering his chest.

Aramis frowns. “He’s a foolish boy with no sense of self preservation…but he’s our foolish boy,” Aramis mutters, mostly to himself.

James has returned with Ms. Robbins and the boys and is now escorting the teacher and the girls to the loo. Marie looks over to Aramis and d’Artagnan and she turns to meet Aramis’ gaze with eyes damp with fresh tears. He shakes his head slowly, urging her to keep going and bless her, she does, she’s one helluva kid, Aramis thinks proudly. 

“She’s a lovely child,” Reina tells him, “intelligent too. I’ve only know her for a few months but she stands out, she’d special.” Reina has probably guessed that Aramis knows her as well by their brief exchange – thank God Liam hadn’t noticed – and she reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze. “She’ll be fine, we all will…aside from this poor lad,” she says quietly, her expression pained, and she strokes d’Artagnan’s hair gently. “Too much time has passed, I’m sorry Paul, I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Aramis freezes at her words but quickly regains his wits. “Why would you say that?”

Reina shrugs helplessly. “Experience? I’m only working here because the hours are good and the children are lovely while I finish my Master’s Degree. I spent 5 years in the A&E in one of the most dangerous parts of Manchester, and I’ve seen just about every kind of trauma that you can imagine. He’s just dangerously close to hypovolemic shock, I can tell you with certainty that he should have been treated hours ago for the optimal outcome.”

Aramis also unfortunately has lots of experience with traumatic wounds but his job as a field medic had been to keep soldiers alive long enough to be transported safely for treatment at a proper medical facility; he rarely, if ever, played a part beyond that and if his patient wasn’t someone in his company or a friend he didn’t always know how they fared afterwards. If the nurse says d’Artagnan might not make it he has to believe her. 

“One of you needs to request fluids for the boy, now, I need two more drips immediately or else he’s done,” he informs to his captors grimly. He turns to Reina. “I know you don’t agree but we’re out of options.” 

Liam appears unmoved, but Chris jumps from his chair and picks up the phone and he makes the request. When he’s finished, he approaches Aramis.

“So ‘e was Special Forces?” Chris asks solemnly.

“That’s what the boss told me, just recovered from a serious gunshot wound to the chest, punctured lung,” Aramis explains slowly, his mind working, and he has an idea. “Lift up his shirt, he’s got a nasty scar running down his sternum, I saw it when I was patching him up.”

Chris indicates that Reina should pull the blanket back and lift up his shirt, and Aramis sees Treville watching the scene unfold, an apprehensive expression on his face. Sure enough, Chris makes a tiny sound when he sees the long red scar still glaringly apparent on d’Artagnan’s chest. 

“So SAS and d’Artagnan of Team 3? Christ, ‘e looks too young for either,” Chris says, sounding doubtful.

Aramis shakes his head. “I don’t know how old he is or what Team 3 is, but he was definitely SAS, he’s got a baby face for sure, but he’s got to be at least 27 or 28 I’d reckon for all that, yeah? The boss said he was wounded serving his country, told me he’s still not 100%.”

“Who’s this boss you’re goin’ on about ?” Chris asks suspiciously. 

“No idea, mate, the bloke you’ve been speaking with I guess? Caucasian, blue eyes and a funny beard?” Aramis knows he’s expecting the boss to be Porthos, so he deliberately describes Athos.

Their conversation is ended by the ringing of the phone and Aramis is bitterly disappointed, he was just making progress, finally getting Chris to empathise with d’Artagnan.

Ms. Robbins returns with the children, James following behind and Chris turns to his comrade.

“Go to the door and get the drips,” he tells him and glances over at d’Artagnan. “And hurry, will you?”

Bingo, Aramis thinks, maybe, just maybe he’ll be able to get the lad out sooner than later.

 

***********************************************************

 

Ryder had been correct; getting into the building was not a problem, especially not when the situation was contained to only one classroom. It was the rest that would be a massive hurdle.

Tei warns them to wait; apparently the little ones are going to the toilet. When the teacher has taken both boys and girls and they were all sitting down again, Tei gives them the all clear. 

…and then rescinds it again and informs Athos that one of the medics on stand-by is taking two more drips to the main entrance, obviously for d’Artagnan, who, Tei informs him, Aramis has once again has been fussing over. They wait another ten minutes until Aramis has him hooked up to the drip, getting the play by play from Tei and feeling sick to his stomach as the young tech describes what’s happening.

“The little one are fine,” Tei assures him, “but the young woman and Aramis are focused on d’Artagnan…sir, he hasn’t moved a’tall, not even when Aramis put him back on the drip,” Tei informs him gravely. “He won’t be of any help to you whatsoever.”

As longs as he stays alive, Athos thinks to himself, he will he helping more than Tei could ever imagine.

“Alright, everyone has settled down. Treville is speaking to the one of them…the one called Chris…and he’s rested his weapon on the desk. James is sitting in a chair, weapon in hand, but his body language tells me he’s upset and nervous. The other character, the one with the automatic weapon? He’s your biggest problem sir, he’s got that weapon trained on the adults, has barely moved a muscle, he’s leaning on the far wall, directly opposite the door.

“I should go in first,” Ryder whispers to Athos. They are standing beside each other in the corridor, about ten meters away from the classroom. There are eight of them; d’Artagnan’s unit and one other, a unit that Porthos assured Athos are just as good. They must be if he’s sent them to rescue the children, including his own child, or else who would have called for another team. 

“Sir, I'm a sniper, I’m sure I can get that one in the back in less than two seconds from the breach,” he tells Athos with confidence and Athos does not doubt his skill. It’s just difficult to hand over such an important task to someone else, with so much at stake.

“That weapon could have a hair-trigger, if he’s hit with his finger on it, isn’t there a chance it will go off and injure someone?” Athos queries worriedly.

Ryder nods. “Yes, I’ll make that decision when I see his position…if that’s acceptable to you sir?”

“Alright,” Athos concedes. “You and Mouse take the one with the assault rifle, Beetle and I will focus on Chris and two of you,” he says indicating the second unit, “Tiny and Relay,” he decides, “take James. Dutch and Trip, out here in the hallway, no one gets past you, understood?”

“Sir!” they all reply quietly in unison and Athos orders one last weapons check and update from Tei.

 

**********************************

 

D’Artagnan just wants to sleep. But there’s something nagging at his brain, pushing at him to open his eyes, something urgent and oh fuck, painful. His eyes fly open and he looks up to see Aramis kneeling above him, adjusting the drip he’s attached to, again it seems, and a cool hand comes to rest on his face. It’s the nurse, and apparently…to his complete mortification…he’s lying in her lap.

“What’s happened?” he asks carefully, not sure if the dynamics have shifted yet again while he was out.

Aramis looks relieved that he’s awake but his expression is terse. “Your blood pressure dipped, we had to get you back on fluids asap, you’ve stabilized now.”

“Help me sit,” d’Artagnan tells him and at first it looks like Aramis will refuse but his brother gently takes him by the shoulders and helps him to lean back against the wall. All that movement brings a fresh surge of pain and vertigo but it passes and Aramis’ soothing tone and gentle touches go a long way towards calming his discomfort.

“Try and stay alert, lad,” Aramis says in a neutral tone, but d’Artagnan can read his brother’s expression even at his worst moments. He means stay focused and expect an assault.

“I’m trying, but I’ve got a hole the size of a two pound coin in my side and someone’s beat my ‘ead in,” he says, trying for humour but it falls flat because the nurse and Aramis both look very concerned.

“Yes, we know,” the medic replies with a grimace, and gets to his feet. Aramis is doing something to the IV bag and d’Artagnan is sure it’s an excuse to stay standing and be ready for what might come next. Treville is still at the teachers desk, the manifesto open in front of him, in deep conversation with Chris. Their exchange is heated but not necessarily angry, d’Artagnan knows as a former soldier Treville truly sympathies with these men and their problems. He also knows that if it wasn’t for the fact that his own stint in the military had been a stepping stone to his career at Team 3, d’Artagnan might have certainly found himself in the same position as some of these men. He’d seen so much horror in those six months in Afghanistan, if he’d remained and hadn’t had something to come back to, something to shift his focus and the support of friends and family, that horror could have easily twisted his mind.

He glances up at Aramis, who has placed his bags on a desk and appears to be looking for something in particular, continuing his ruse in order to be in a position to react. He knows that although Aramis is furious, he also sympathises to a degree. His brother has seen prolonged and bloody combat. He’d gone into the military after Uni, where he’d studied languages, on the promise of his degree furthering his career in the Forces. It had, but only not in the way he’d expected. Aramis had been in the Shooting Society at Uni, shooting clay pigeons and the like for sport but he’d been very, very good at it. He’d won all sorts of medals and distinctions and once recruited his Captain had steered him in that direction, something that he’d never actually wanted but once the military knows you have a skill they’ll nurture it for their own gain and Aramis really had no choice. It’s the army, you take orders, you follow your superiors, you keep your mouth shut or you’re on your way back home with a dishonourable discharge as a stain on your record for the rest of your life. 

Aramis had been in the army for ten long years, as a sniper and then trained as a medic since a regular medic wasn’t allowed to follow on some of his specialist company’s more dangerous missions. He’s been pensioned out early though, an injury to the thigh that fortunately left no lasting effects but at the time, it had been serious enough to make him no longer useful to his unit. D’Artagnan knew from their long, late night conversations about their combat experiences that Aramis had been ready to call it quits anyway, it had all become too much. He’d almost immediately landed a job as a UN translator, where he’d accidentally met Treville in New York at a hotel bar during some crisis, and he’d been the second member to be added to the new Team 3 after Athos. Treville and Serge and the others were moving out of the field and into support and management roles at the Agency and Treville had been charged with creating a new team to eventually take over from them, a team that included significantly younger members, and, as times were changing, a woman. 

D’Artagnan and Constance filled the criteria of younger members and female, and Treville had sent them off to be trained, bided his time while they were in the Forces while preparing Athos to take over his role as senior agent. Athos, who’d moved up the ladder at the MoD under Treville’s patronage to senior analyst, with a focus on predicting threats and attacks, was a perfect candidate in every way; intelligent, educated, military trained as Treville’s choice of detox, and he’d proven himself to be a rock under pressure. Porthos was the last to be added, since Treville had been loath to move him from his position as the MoD’s master ‘lock pick’ and security expert, but he’d been working on his own for far too long and it was time to get him into a team as well, not just for his skills, but for his well-being. Treville had made the right call; when D’Artagnan had first met him they’d become fast friends but there’d been a part of Porthos that was closed off and had distrusted the world in general and Treville was a man who cared for the lives and sanity of the men and women in his charge, and not just getting the job done. 

So that’s how it had all started, d’Artagnan thinks fondly, trying to keep his muddled brain on something other than the pain, and his fear for the children and the mostly helpless adults, but Liam is becoming increasingly twitchy, something that is truly beginning to terrify the usually fearless d’Artagnan. The former soldier has begun muttering to himself and even James is keeping his distance and the other man is now seated near the children. It crosses d’Artagnan’s mind that James might actually be afraid for the little ones, as his dead mate had been, and he hopes to God that when it all goes to shit James will make the right choice. As for himself, well d’Artagnan isn’t sure what he can do to help, he can barely move without his head spinning and he’s weak as a day old puppy, but there was no way he’ll cower in the corner like a coward. 

Constance is once again in the forefront of his thoughts, his fear that she will defect for good this time still lingering despite Aramis’ assurance that she would never leave him again. In truth, they’d moved forward in leaps and bounds when they’d reunited, buying the flat together and discussing the future and d’Artagnan has a 1.5 carat diamond and baguette platinum engagement ring on a payment plan at his mum’s jeweller. It will take months to pay off, he thinks, frustrated because he’s been anxious to propose for a while, but that won’t matter if she thinks he’s gone and gotten himself beaten and shot because he’d done ‘something stupid’.

“Hey, you alright there, lad?” Aramis asks quietly, his expression concerned. 

“Never better, mate,” he replies, although he’s once again feeling weakened and drowsy. Apparently the fluids are a ‘pick me up’ but when they’re done, well so is he. 

And just then, with his head swimming and his lids drooping, chaos descends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never posted such a short update, and I probably never will again, but this tiny part had to stand alone:) THANK YOU ALL for your support; this is not a paid endeavour, it's a love letter to the show, and your comments and kudos are my payment:)

After yet another delay for Aramis to move the thankfully now-conscious d’Artagnan to lean against the wall, Tei gives him everyone’s positions once more and the all-clear to move. Athos has reluctantly given control to Ryder; the other man does this on a regular basis, Athos hasn’t had a full-on situation like this in a while, and he also has to admit he’s too close to this. If he hadn’t been the one calling the shots there was no way in hell that anyone else would have let him be on the assault team, he knows this, and for the safety of everyone involved, once the logistics were all covered, he hands the reins over to Ryder.

The door has no lock or handle, they’ve been shot off, but it’s closed. Mouse gives it a mighty kick and it slams open, hitting the wall and rattling the white boards and Ryder, who is fast as whip, moves in first, everyone else following behind. Athos is at once assaulted by the sounds of screaming but he pushes it aside, he’s good at that…and then all hell breaks loose.

 

****************************************************

 

For the first time in his adult life Porthos is not in complete control.

He watches, in frozen horror, as the classroom is breached, a stony Constance beside him, doing her utmost to remain composed. She’s giving orders to the medics to be on full alert and move in closer, her voice and her tone steel despite her terror.

Porthos has no idea how she’s so calm, at that moment, he feels like every cell in his body is set to explode and he literally expects his brains to splatter all over the walls of the van when suddenly - and wholly unexpectedly - the feed goes black.

“Sir,” a clearly distressed Tei says, addressing Porthos, “we’ve lost the cameras.”

Porthos doesn’t reply, he simply moves for the doors, Constance screaming after him, as he unholsters his weapons and sprints towards the entrance of the school.

 

****************************************************

 

It all happens so shockingly fast that even Aramis is caught somewhat off guard. The minute the door slams open, both he and Treville share a knowing glance and they both pounce on Chris who, not surprisingly doesn’t put up a fight, neither does James who simply drops his gun and sinks to the ground with his hands behind his head. Ryder is screaming at Liam to drop his weapon, which is now aimed steadily at the children as the room fills with Porthos’ men, black-clad and wearing gas masks that terrify the children, who Ms. Robbins can barely contain. Big mistake on someone’s part, Aramis acknowledges, although he also knows that it’s protocol and protocol must be followed for the safety of all involved. 

The masks come off, Athos first, but the children are still screaming and the adults are huddled close, whimpering and crying. Two men that Aramis doesn’t recognise come in from the corridor and take Chris and James away, and Beetle gives Treville and Aramis each one of the two extra weapons strapped to his body.

“Drop your weapon,” Ryder repeats loudly and clearly to Liam who is completely rigid and has barely moved, one hand on the trigger of the assault rifle.

“Shall we see who’s faster, mate?” Liam replies calmly, goading Ryder.

Aramis is sure that _he’s_ the fastest but the second the weapon in his hand discharges even the slightest movement from Liam could set off the assault rifle.

“It’s over,” Athos says calmly. “Do the right thing and put down your weapon.”

“The right thing?” Liam spits out. “The right thing was for your precious Minister to come down and hear us out! The right thing is for men and women who’ve given everything for their country to be treated with respect!”

There are eight men, him and Treville included, heavily armed and Liam is just one man, but that one man holds that lives of 13 children in his hands. 

And then of course, Aramis thinks with a sort of dull resignation , d’Artganan, who can barely keep his head up unassisted, does his trademark something stupid.

 

****************************************************

 

The breach is textbook, and d’Artagnan is proud of his Unit, but there’s still Liam, the loose cannon, and d’Artagnan’s muzzy brain starts turning, the cogs moving slowly but steadily and he tries to see a way out of this impossible standoff. Athos is trying to talk him down, he’s good at that, d’Artagnan acknowledges, but anything less that Liam putting down his weapon…or aiming it elsewhere…could end up in the death of the children. If even one child is hurt or killed, d’Artagnan is sure he won’t be able to live with himself. 

So he makes a decision, one based on logical risk assessment and probable outcome and skills he’s learned in the hottest deserts on the planet and in the field with Team 3, a plan he hopes will fucking work, because the classroom is filled with innocent children and adults, as well as most of the people he holds closest to his heart, and they could all be gone in a second if it doesn’t.

“Listen you piss-poor excuse of a soldier, leave the children alone, if you want to shoot someone, shoot me you wanker, here I am, come on, shoot me…” he cries out and Liam, completely thrown and fully enraged, as d’Aratgnan had hoped, swings his weapon around towards him and fires at the same moment as Aramis and Ryder do.

 

*********************************************************

 

“What the fuck happened to the feed!” Constance cries out furiously. 

“We lost the satellite, that’s how we were getting the signal, ma’am,” Danny says, typing furiously, obviously trying to get it back.

Over the comms feed in her ear Constance hears Ryder’s voice. “All clear, all clear, we need the medics in here stat,” is all he says, and Constance turns to Tei.

“You’ve just been promoted to agent in charge,” she says flatly, and swings the door open, weapon in hand and she follows on Porthos’ heels into the school.

 

To be continued......


	6. Chapter 6

Liam’s target had clearly been d’Artagnan’s heart. 

But he ended up clipping his left arm instead, since both Aramis and Ryder were just as fast, and the former soldier goes down in a hail of bullets as children scream and parents and teachers wail and d’Artagnan falls sideways, a fearless Reina quickly taking charge to staunch the flow of blood from this new, but thankfully superficial, Aramis notes, injury to the unconscious idiot. Two more rounds from the automatic weapon were fired as Liam fell, one ricocheting off the brick wall and hitting Athos, who’d surged forward towards the _clearly insane_ , Aramis has decided, d’Artagnan, and slammed into their brother’s chest, throwing him backwards with astonishing force. 

Aramis falls beside Athos at once and starts pulling off his kit and body armour and lets out a loud and wholly unashamed sob when he realises that the round has not penetrated Athos’s Kevlar but the impact has left a horrible bruise blossoming on his chest that Aramis is fully aware could be just as dangerous.

“Oh, you stupid fool, don’t you know better than to let that idiot boy goad you into the line of fire?” Aramis is a saying, near tears, as Athos struggles to breathe. 

“Is he dead?” Athos asks finally, his voice hitching as he does so.

“Of course not, d’Artagnan has more lives than a cat,” he tells Athos soothingly. Around them, there is chaos, as Beetle and Mouse are trying to convince the hostages that it’s truly over and that they need to move out of the room quickly. Ryder is kneeling with an unconscious d’Artagnan held up carefully with both arms wrapped around him while Reina checks his blood pressure and his pulse. 

“You’ll need a chest CT, probably head as well, you hit the ground quite spectacularly. What were you thinking?” Aramis scolds.

Athos huffs. “What was I thinking? Stupid, idiotic, reckless child, what was he thinking?”

Aramis frowns. “He wasn’t,” he tells Athos flatly. “If Constance saw the feed the shit is really going to hit the fan.” 

There’s a loud growl from the doorway that is very distinctively Porthos and Marie breaks away from the group of children huddled with Mouse, and she rushes forward, screaming for her daddy. Aramis hears her sobbing while telling Porthos that _‘Uncle ‘tan_ and _‘thos_ are dead’, something that obviously shocks the unwitting Porthos.

“Porthos, no, they’re fine, really,” Aramis calls out and he backs away to allow the medics who have just arrived behind Porthos to check over Athos and load him onto a gurney. He quickly remind the paramedics that anyone injured or in shock must be taken to the MoD's medical facility only and then he rushes over to d’Artagnan, who is also being transferred to a gurney, with Reina beside him rattling off his condition and his stats. “His BP just dipped,” she’s telling the medic in charge, “he’s already had three bags of fluid, I’d suggest against anymore,” she adds and Aramis becomes distracted by the entrance of Constance. 

“Aramis?” she says, fearful, watching helplessly as an unresponsive d’Artagnan is being readied for transport. “We lost the feed, what the hell happened?” she asks breathlessly when she finally notices that Athos is also being wheeled away.

“Athos took a hit to his body armour, d’Artagnan was clipped on the arm when we took Liam down, nothing worse,” he assures her calmly. 

“Liam?”

“Automatic weapon, murdering wanker?” Aramis says, one brow raised.

“How the hell did that happen when he was on the floor, barely conscious and there were eight men armed to the gills in ‘ere?” she questions furiously.

“A ricochet,” Aramis lies smoothly. She hadn’t seen the feed so for the moment there was no reason for her to know what had happened. If d’Artagnan wants to tell her, it will be his choice, end of story. He’ll make sure to tell Athos and Treville, who Aramis had forgotten about up till now, since the older man had been on his phone from the minute the stand-off had ended, and Aramis urges her to go with d’Artagnan and leave the rest of them to deal with the mess. Constance doesn’t need to be told twice, she rushes out the door, following closely behind the gurney.

“I um, I lied to Constance, no reason for her to get any more upset that necessary, told her d’Artagnan took a stray from a richochet,” he tells Treville carefully when the older man pockets his phone.

Treville looks haggard and exhausted and as if he’s aged ten years. “Yes, alright, but the cameras?”

Aramis barks out a laugh. “Apparently they’d gone dark, lucky for our little brother, that’s for sure,” he says. “That woman is a force of nature when she’s angry, he doesn’t need that today.”

“How bad is it, truly?” Treville asks with serious concern.

“Bad enough that we should leave Ryder to clean up the mess while we go after those two idiots,” he replies. referring to Athos and d’Artagnan. “Ryder, not one person leaves here without the standard debrief about code names, the information they might have heard regarding her Majesty’s secret agencies and all that, and I want it in writing from everyone, got it?”

“Already on it, we’ve got them in another room with medics, water, tea and blankets, Tei and Danny have already started the debrief.”

"When your done you and the lads will escort everyone to our facility to be checked out. No one leaves there until I say so," Aramis tells him firmly.

“Aramis, how bad?” Treville insists when Ryder has gone.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Aramis explains mindful of Porthos and a sniffling Marie who are now beside them as well. “A lot,” he adds in a softer voice. “We should go…now. 

Treville nods. “And Athos?”

“Barring any internal injuries, with I didn’t detect, he will be in a massive amount of pain for a few weeks, but probably nothing worse. Porthos, see to our little pumpkin and I’ll ring you when I have news.”

“Not a chance, we’re coming too, all of us,” he says firmly, meaning Marie and Ellie as well.

Aramis know arguing is pointless. “Well since you’re the boss here, get one of your boys to drive us…and tell them we’ll need a siren, we need to be there as soon as possible.”

 

*********************************

 

D’Artagnan is taken unresponsive from A&E directly to the surgical floor where Constance waits alone in a tiny, overheated lounge just outside of the theatres, for hours. There had been a lot of debate over taking d’Artagnan to CT for his head injuries first or seeing to the gunshot wounds but the surgeon in charge, after getting an assessment from Aramis in the A&E, had insisted that it was crucial that the open wounds be dealt with before going to CT in order to avoid infection. Just about everyone on the trauma and surgical teams knows d’Artagnan and they are fully aware of the fact that he’d nearly gone septic the last time he’d been shot, something they were very keen to avoid for a second time around. 

Porthos and Marie find Constance late into the evening, after the little girl has been checked over with all the other children, but sans Ellie, who’s been barred from leaving the cafeteria due to her terrible cold, and Marie sits on Constance’s lap and begins telling the tale from her point of view, through the eyes of a very frightened, but very mature for her age, child.

“Uncle ‘tan is a hero, like in my cartoons,” she tells Constance, sniffling against the tears that are once again threatening to fall. “He fought the bad men, and then Aramis came and helped him and I didn’t tell anyone he’s my uncle too,” she says with pride. “But they killed ‘thos, they shot him,” she says abruptly, as if she’s just remembered, and the little girl starts to sob in earnest.

“I told you Athos is not dead, Marie, he’s with Aramis getting checked out, I swear,” Porthos explains patiently. Constance hugs the little girl tight and affirms what Porthos has just said.

“But I saw him, he fell, after Uncle ‘tan yelled at the bad man,” she says, confused.

“Yes, but he’s not badly hurt, I promise, daddy will take you to see him soon,” Constance soothes. “So what’s this about Uncle ‘tan yelling at the bad man?” she asks carefully, completely confused by Marie’s words since they had lost the feed and missed everything that happened after the breach.

“The bad man wanted to shoot us, Uncle ‘tan got very, very angry and told the bad man to shoot him instead. Then a lot of terrible things happened,” she says, her lower lip trembling as she speaks and Constance hugs her close and strokes her long hair soothingly. 

“Uncle ‘tan sometimes does silly things, Marie, but for good reasons,” Porthos explains to her gently. “I’m sure he told the bad man to shoot him to keep you and your friends safe, right? That’s what policemen do, they keep people safe.”

“I want you to try and forget all the bad parts and remember only the good parts, like when your daddy came and got you and your mummy was waiting for you outside. Uncle ‘tan and Athos are fine, I promise, and soon we’ll all go home and everything will be fine,” Constance tells the little girl, biding her time for Aramis to show up so she can find out why her idiot partner told a madman to shoot him. Although she’s sure that Porthos has hit the head on the nail with his explanation, she certainly can’t fault her foolish lover for putting the children first.

“So, Constance, what do you make of all that?” Porthos asks tautly as Marie’s eyes begin to droop and Constance leans back into the vinyl sofa so that the little girl can rest comfortably against her.

“You know ‘im as well as I do, mate, and we both know he probably did something very daft…but very brave,” she adds with a long-suffering sigh.

“Does that mean I don’t get to whoop the daylights outta him?” Porthos queries.

“No, that’s up to you,” Constance says with a tiny smile. “It just means that I would be handing him his ass this time, not if Aramis backs up my little pumpkin’s story.” 

“When ‘e wakes up and realises he’ll be on sick leave again, he’ll go mental,” Porthos muses. “I’ll offer him a desk job until he’s recovered, so ‘e doesn’t drive you mad, we’ve got lots of cases that could use his sharp eye and we’re understaffed anyway, hopefully he’ll agree.”

“Have Sylvie do it, he’s a bit afraid of her, yeah?” Constance says with a giggle.

Porthos lets out a guffaw that sounds like a bear growling, he has a knack for appearing intimidating even though Constance knows he’s the probably the most sensitive of them all. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”

The double doors at the end of the ward open and two doctors, a man and a woman, approach them. Unlike their brothers, she hadn’t spend any time here with d’Artagnan when he’d been shot by Marcheaux so she isn’t familiar with them, but Porthos is and he rises and greets them both by name and turns to introduce them them to Constance.

“We’ve actually met,” the woman says, reminding Constance of her car accident and Constance apologises. 

“No need, luv, you had a concussion, you’re excused,” Dr. Adams tells her with a laugh. “This is my colleague, Dr. Andrew Tyne, he’s our head of surgery, let’s have a seat, shall we?”

Porthos takes the sleeping Marie from Constance’s lap and they all take a seat in the small lounge. 

“Are you his wife?” Dr. Tyne asks kindly.

“No his partner, but I’m his legal next of kin,” Constance explains, hoping that neither doctor will object to sharing d’Artagnan’s condition with her. She hasn’t rung his parents; they know he works in Counter-terrorism, his new position is not as covert as his previous one so he’d told them because he was sick of the lies. They hadn’t liked it at all and for a few days his mum had refused to speak to him, but he was back in London and back with Constance so she’d slowly come round and accepted it, even though she still hated the idea. Constance hoped she wouldn’t be forced to call them to come to the medical facility before she knew herself what d’Artagnan’s condition was.

“Yes, no worries,” Dr. Tyne assures her. “Surgery went fine, both injuries have been treated and we’re bombarding him with antibiotics to avoid infection since he went hours without proper treatment. He’s also had a blood transfusion and we’re monitoring his blood pressure, kidney function and all his levels very carefully and so far everything looks fine. He’s had a CT for his head injuries and we haven’t found a bleed or any swelling or any other specific cause for concern,” the doctor tells them tentatively.

“But?” Porthos asks tersely, and Constance can also tell by their expressions that a ‘but’ was coming.

“But he hasn’t woken up yet. We’d expected him to regain consciousness once the anaesthesia was out of his system but he hasn’t. In all honesty this isn’t at all unusual with traumatic blood loss.”

“So he’s in a coma?” Constance ask, heart slamming in her chest.

“Well, technically yes. However he does respond to stimuli and he’s doing remarkably well for what he’s been through, but we’re being cautious,” Dr. Tyne explains.

“He was mostly awake and lucid through most of his ordeal, what changed?” Constance asks shakily.

“The second gunshot wound sent him into hypovolemic shock, he’s lost a lot of blood, and although whoever treated him on-site did a brilliant job of keeping him alive he went far too long without proper treatment. This isn’t an unusual occurrence, mind you, this is a natural result of severe trauma,” Dr. Tyne tells them. “But like I explained before, there is no sign of organ damage, his bloods are good, his heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen levels are near normal.”

“But he’s still in a coma,” Constance states flatly. “What about brain injury, you said the CT doesn’t show anything?”

“It doesn’t,” Dr. Adams says reassuringly but they can tell she’s also keeping something from them.

“And yet?” Porthos queries, clearly becoming impatient, it’s like pulling teeth, Constance thinks frustrated.

“And yet head wounds are tricky so we’ll be doing an MRI as well at some point, just as a precaution, although it’s highly improbable that any brain injury will manifest itself from here and on. For now, he’s being given pain relief but no sedatives and he’ll be in the ICU on a respirator for the time being – it’s just a safety measure, he’s breathing just fine on his own - and a specialist neurologist is on his way in to see him as we speak,” Dr. Adams explains carefully.

“So now it’s ‘wait and see’? What if ‘e doesn’t wake up?” Porthos demands.

“Everything indicates that he will, so for now we’re cautiously optimistic that he’ll simply wake on his own,” Dr. Adams tells Porthos kindly.

“Can I see him? Sit with him? If he wakes and I’m not there…” Constance begins, but trails off, biting her lip.

“Yes, but only for short intervals since it’s ICU and the rules are quite strict for the protection of all the patients on the ward. But there’s a lounge with vending machines, a coffee maker and wifi so you can rest in between visits. I’ll take you there myself,” Dr. Adams offers and Constance is very grateful for the other woman’s support.

“I’ve got to get Ellie and Marie home, I’m sorry luv,” Porthos tells her apologetically, clearly unhappy to be leaving her alone. 

“It’s fine, I’ve got to call his mum, I’m sure she’ll be here immediately, I won’t be alone,” she assures her brother.

“I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible…” Porthos begins.

“Don’t, take care of your family first, please.”

“You’re my family too,” he reminds her and he gets to his feet, adjusting the sleeping Marie higher on his shoulder. He leans over and kisses Constance on the cheek and goes. 

“Lead the way,” Constance tells Dr. Adams, who’s been waiting patiently, and she follows the doctor towards the ICU.

 

******************************************************

 

At some point after being taken away from the school by ambulance, Athos had lost consciousness. He was certainly in a great amount of pain as well as emotionally and physically exhausted, he thinks he’s entitled to be a bit of a drama queen and swoon. Aramis’ words or course, not his.

He’s been placed in a private room on the same floor as the ICU as a courtesy, since Aramis had explained that their colleague and friend was also on that floor and it would make it a lot easier for the rest of them to keep tabs on both of their injured comrades if they were close by. Athos was very grateful for Aramis and his diplomatic way with people – charm, Aramis had corrected – because Athos was simply too wrecked to negotiate anything with anyone, not after spending hours trying to negotiate for the lives of 30 innocent people.

All his tests are clear but the impact of the bullet to his body armour has left a massive and painful bruise on his chest and he can barely move around without wanting to scream in agony. He’s even got a catheter so he doesn’t have to get out of bed for a day or two while they try and reduce the swelling and manage the pain. His body agrees with all of this but his brain does not; Athos is not one for being idle for long stretches of time, leaves him too much time to think, something that can be very traumatic for someone like him.

As for that lunatic child, well no one has told him very much aside from the fact that d’Artagnan is stable and in the ICU for precautionary reasons only, but Athos suspects that Aramis is keeping something from him. He has yet to see Porthos or Constance and Aramis has gone to check on the both of them and get an update on d’Artagnan and Athos expects him to return soon. What he doesn’t expect at quarter past eleven, is a visitor, especially one he doesn’t actually know.

“I know it’s late and all, but I wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Reina says from the door and Athos indicates that she should comes in. He’s not much in the mood to chit chat but she might have some news on d’Artagnan or know the whereabouts of the others. “Yes, it’s fine, please sit,” he says tiredly. He knows her first name, supplied by Aramis and that she’s a nurse, and from he’d seen via the feed she’d tried her best to help their youngest brother stay alive. 

“I came in with everyone else and no one has noticed yet that I’m not supposed to still be here,” she says cheekily, “I didn’t want to leave until I had a chance to make sure everyone was ok.”

Athos gives her a ghost of a smile. “I’d like to thank you, on behalf of the MoD for what you did to keep everyone calm as well as our operative alive, we are truly grateful,” Athos says formally and Reina laughs.

“Your mate, Paul, he told me the lad is your very close friend, so you’re welcome, the MoD can send me a letter and a maybe some nice flowers if they’d like to thank me,” she teases. 

Athos assumes Paul is Aramis, so he nods and gives her a polite smile. “Yes, he’s like family, so thank you, he has a knack for getting into scrapes, I’m grateful you were there.”

Reina nods and her expression goes serious. “He was pretty badass, I didn’t see exactly what happened when he was shot but I saw the bodies, I have to say it was…shocking, I don’t want to imagine how things might have gone with eight men as opposed to four, especially when they began to turn on each other,” she adds with a grimace.

Athos nods, knowing that she has a very good point. “He’s exemplary at what he does, however he sometimes forgets that he’s made of flesh and blood, it’s tedious,” Athos says blandly, wondering why he’s taking the time to discuss d’Artagnan with a stranger. 

“Yes, I saw to be honest, he has more than his fair share of ‘badges of honour’ littering his body. I hope he pulls through, he seems like a truly decent human being, not many left, you know.”

Athos freezes. “Pull through? Ar…Paul said the ICU is just a precaution…?”

Reina looks mortified and Athos can tell she realizes she’s shared more than ‘Paul’ had wanted him to know. “Yes, it is, I’m sure he’ll be fine, I went by there, a young woman was sitting with him…reddish-brown hair, curls?”

“His girlfriend, or partner if you prefer, was she alright?” Athos asked, concerned for Constance. 

“Worried, but fine, she said his mum was on the way and that she expected him to make a full recovery,” Reina tells Athos, seeming to regain her composure. “I um, I don’t actually know his name, they kept referring to him as ‘d’Artagnan’, which I’m guessing is some kind of code name.”

Athos grimaces, and hopes that Ryder has been thorough with the debrief. “Yes, but you’ve been informed of the consequences of sharing that, correct?” he asks, more sternly than he’d intended.

Reina nods quickly. “Of course, signed the papers, listened to the speech by the bloke in charge, no worries, I’ve been a nurse for years, confidentiality is ingrained in me, I promise.”

Athos nods. “Be honest, no need to placate me, I’m not actually in any physical danger, is the lad – d’Artagnan – going to recover? It hadn’t crossed my mind that he wouldn’t, he’d had much worse…”

“And always bounces back, our boy does,” Aramis finishes, entering the room, dishevelled, his borrowed uniform stained with blood and his face pale and drawn. The ordeal, Athos acknowledges, has left none of them unscathed.

Reina rises and gives her seat to Aramis. “Well, I’ve got to go, my mum and dad are going mental, they won’t believe I’m actually alright unless they see me,” she explains. “Listen, Paul, can I give you my mobile? So you can let me know if your friend recovers,” she adds hurriedly, but Athos suspects it might be a bit more than just that. Aramis has a way with women that none of them have ever truly understood.

They quickly trade numbers and Reina hurries out, and Aramis falls into the vacant chair beside Athos’ bed, looking utterly wrecked.

“Lemay and Treville are fielding the press, Chris’ very distraught family, Louis, the Prime Minister, and anyone else that you can think of that has descended on the pair of them at Whitehall, it’s a mess,” Aramis says wearily.

“Yes, and it’s a mess that should never have happened. Louis is an ass, the fact that he never gave those men even five minutes of his time is disgraceful. I certainly don’t approve of their methods but I’m sure they were quite desperate to take it that far,” Athos replies, truly torn about the entire situation.

“Despite that fact that I’d happily shoot that bastard Liam again, I wholeheartedly agree with you. Treville says he plans to discuss leniency with the prosecution and Louis, afraid of bad press, has taken their manifesto with him on his ‘weekend in the country’, says he plans on ‘reading every word and will address all the issues’, his words, not mine.”

Athos barks out a laugh. “So he’s no longer calling them terrorists?”

Aramis shakes his head. “No, he got backlash for that via social media, he’s now calling them ‘troubled’,” Aramis says, clearly disgusted by the Minister’s behavior. “You know, Lemay told me Liam was a professor for a while, but he’d lost multiple positions due to PTSD. I’m not sorry I shot him, truly, there were too many innocent lives at stake, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel gutted over it. I took a life, Athos, the boy took four, this won’t be easy for me or him, this was not a simple case of good vs. evil, there’s too much grey area,” he confesses. 

Athos feels like a boulder has settled in his stomach at Aramis’ revelations. In all the insanity none of that had crossed his mind. Taking the life of a criminal is never easy, taking the life of someone whose actions were driven by unfortunate circumstances is a tremendous burden. Athos himself has been lucky to never have found himself in a similar situation, but he knows that Aramis has, in Afghanistan. As for d’Artagnan, he makes a mental to make sure he speaks to him when he’s well again, to let him know he’s there, to listen.

“I’m truly sorry, brother, in all honesty I had thought of it in that way, there was so much going on…”

“Athos, don’t spend the rest of the night wringing your hands over it,” Aramis replies, and Athos knows that humour is his default setting when he wants to avoid discussing something.

“I’m here, always, if you want to talk. Tell me about the children, and the rest of the hostages,” Athos queries, changing the subject for the moment.

“Aside from a few who have chronic health issues and are being kept overnight, everyone has been debriefed, checked over and sent home. The three who needed hospitalisation are staying here, to avoid the press and the rest of the curious masses.”

Athos nods. “And our reckless child? Why did the nurse make is sound like he’s worse than you’ve told me?”

Aramis fidgets nervously with the zipper of his borrowed uniform. “He’s in the ICU, apparently sleeping beauty is taking his time waking up,” Aramis says carefully.

“Aramis, you said he wasn’t seriously injured…”

Aramis clears his throat. “Yes, well he’s been shot you know, twice, and he did lose a lot of blood…so he’s going to need time to heal.”

“And what’s keeping him unconscious, his head injuries? Are they keeping him purposely sedated? What aren’t you telling me!”

“No, no, I promise, there’s no brain injury, and they’re only giving him analgesics so that when he wakes he’s not shocked by the pain, nothing to induce unconsciousness.” 

“And? Come on, Aramis, what else?”

“Nothing else, truly, he’s simply taking his sweet time waking up. You know how he is, if he doesn’t put us through hell he’s simply not happy,” Aramis jokes, but it falls flat. 

They’re interrupted by a very unexpected visit from Porthos and d’Artagnan’s boss Sylvie. Aramis, always the gentleman rises at once and offers his chair. Sylvie thanks him, but declines, preferring to stand. There is something about Sylvie that makes Athos…uncomfortable, not in a bad way, just something about her that makes him…jittery? She’s a very attractive woman, intelligent and successful, and aside from Constance and Ellie, Athos finds himself feeling awkward around the female gender, it’s been a very long time since he’d had anything aside from casual flings and one night stands, he acknowledges. 

“I’ve gotten a full report from your mate, he’s taken his wife and little girl home, I’ve given him a week off but I doubt he’ll take even a day,” she says, and Athos agrees, Porthos will be in his office at eight am the following day, not matter what. 

“Listen, gents, I know this is a terrible time, but I’ve got some information to pass on to you. There’s been chatter, and it falls under your jurisdiction,” she begins hesitantly. “To be honest, I was going to pass it on to another Agency Team but Treville said it has to go to you lot.”

“Sylvie, what in the world are you talking about,” Aramis ask impatiently, but not unkindly.

Sylvie frowns. “I just think you’re too close to this, but like I said, it’s Treville’s call, he’s the Special Advisor.”

Athos is actually growing more impatient than Aramis and he’s exhausted to boot. “Please, just out with it!”

“Rochefort has been sighted in France. Treville says I’m to hand the file over to you personally. You need to get your Team to Paris as soon as possible.”

Aramis scoffs. “That’s for MI6, we don’t have authorization to conduct operations outside of the UK without going through the proper channels.".

“Apparently you do now, Foreign Office approved, permission from the French to import your firearms and equipment, the whole kit and caboodle.”

“Fuck,” Aramis says and Athos wholly agrees with his assessment, really, _fuck_. 

“Who arranged all of this, wasn’t Treville in the debrief with the hostage situation all night?” Athos asks, shocked.

“Yes, so was I, we finished about half-ten, but I told Treville when I first got to Whitehall and he put Lemay on it while the rest of us were in with the Minister. That man works miracles,” she says, and Athos agrees, Lemay is a gem.

“I’m somewhat…incapacitated…” Athos begins, but Aramis cuts him off.

“Nonsense, a few opiates, maybe some medical marijuana since where going the whole nine yards as the Americans say, and we’re off,” he says with a cocky grin, but then suddenly it fades. “Constance,” he breathes.

“Constance is a professional, Aramis, she knows her duty,” Athos reminds him.

“Of course, but her state of mind…and bollocks, if he wakes and she’s not here?”

Syvlie nods, understanding. “You leave day after tomorrow, five am, let’s hope your lad has recovered by then,” she says kindly, “I need him back at work as soon as possible, he’s one of my best operatives, you lot’ve taught him well.”

Aramis bursts out laughing and Athos finds it contagious, but his chuckle turns to a cough because damn, it hurts.

“My dear Sylvie, no one can teach d’Atagnan anything, he seems to think he was born with the all the knowledge of the universe, but we’ll accept the compliment regardless. He’s a good lad though, and he truly cares, we can’t take the credit for that, you can thank his mum and dad for raising him right,” Aramis says fondly and Athos agrees wholeheartedly.

“Right, well whatever it is, he saves lives and gets the job done, I’m going to pop over and check on him, sit with Constance for a bit. She must be knackered,” she tells them with a grimace. 

“Yes, in about four hours, Constance will have been awake for 24 hours, bollocks, this day is endless,” Aramis groans.

“Sylvie, please, don’t say anything to Constance, I’ll speak to her myself,” Athos tells her.

“Of course,” she replies knowingly and leaves the two of them alone.

“This is _big_ , Athos, we’ve never done anything quite like this before on foreign soil,” Aramis muses.

“You fought in Afghanistan, that wasn't _big_ and not foreign enough soil for you?” Athos says with a groan of pain as he tries to get comfortable.

Aramis gets to his feet and helps him adjust the pillows. “I’m being serious. It's usually a simple extraction or a minor gunrunner. Do you think we can take Porthos along?”

“Please don’t tell me you don’t trust your team, Aramis!”

Aramis balks. “Of course I do, but neutralising Rochefort is just as important to Porthos as the rest of us. That wanker almost exposed the youngsters and he tried to ruin Treville, this is very personal.”

Athos nods, contemplating. “It will be solely up to him and of course Sylvie as his supervisor, we’d need to speak to Treville of course…”

“Brilliant, I miss his loud presence, it’s been lonely without him,” Aramis says gleefully with more enthusiasm than an adult should probably express but Athos tends to agree, he misses him too.

“The child will go ballistic when he finds out everyone but him is going,” Athos says seriously.

“Yes, he will, and by the way, will you never stop calling him that? I think he’s got to be at least…29ish by now?”

Athos twists his mouth into a half smile. “Believe it or not, I think he rather likes it, and to be honest, so do I,” Athos says softly and his thoughts switch immediately back to d’Artagnan’s prognosis. “Go to Constance, see if he’s improved and then get yourself home to sleep. One of us needs to be fully fit for this mission; if I’m unwell at any point, you, as lead agent of Team 3, will be in charge. Now go, and text me if he’s any better…or any worse.”

“Yes, sir, on my way,” Aramis says teasingly and gives Athos a mock salute, but he can’t hide his concern from Athos, they’ve been friends and brothers in arms far too long for that. 

Aramis leaves and Athos uses the remote to put the bed down slightly, hoping he’ll be able to get some sleep, but with this new mission looming, and God, Rochefort of all people, and with d’Artagnan still unconscious, he wonders how he will get any rest this night.


	7. Chapter 7

When d’Artagnan finally opens his eyes he gets the shock of his life.

Sitting beside his bed, in what appears to be the dreaded ICU, is his _mother_.

Seeing her there is even more shocking that the respirator tube down his throat, and his mum has to physically restrain his hands while she calls out for someone to come and remove it, _now_ , she demands, before he tries to pull it out himself. His mother, he recalls quickly, is a force to be reckoned when it comes to her family.

Within moments his bed is surrounded and his mother is hustled away – complaining the whole, time mind you – and the tube is removed by a doctor he knows, Adams he thinks is her name. Before he can ask any questions about _how_ and _why_ he seems to lose consciousness again but his eyes are literally pried open by someone shining a flashlight in them and a few gentle slaps to his face.

“Oh come on now, lad, you’re mum’ll ‘ave my ‘ead if you go back to sleep, won’t she,” Dr. Adams says, putting her posh accent aside to cajole d’Artagnan into rejoining the living. “And your girl, she’s a tough one, she is, carries a gun I’m told, I’d best be careful,” she teases and he blinks slowly, trying to focus, and he sees the smiling face of the trauma specialist looming above him.

“Water,” he croaks instantly and a nurse brings him a cup with a straw and he takes a few sips. “What ‘appened?”

Dr. Adams sighs dramatically. “You were shot again…twice…and it appears as if your mum hadn’t known about your previous stay at our fine establishment, sorry, mate, she does now.”

“Fuck…how?” he asks hoarsely.

“She saw your chest, lad, almost had a stroke, poor thing, but your Constance assured her it wasn’t all that bad. At some point you’re going to have to confess the whole ‘working for the government thing’ my dear boy, she’s not stupid or blind, and you’re in a military hospital,” Dr. Adams tells him, matter-of-factly. “How on earth did you manage to keep all that from her?”

D’Artagnan swallows and tries to clear his dry throat. “Don’t ask, it ‘asn’t been easy. Have you seen Constance? You mentioned her but…”

“But nothing, she hasn’t left your side for a minute, aside for the few times she’s gone to visit that handsome bloke with the blue eyes? I even arranged for her to have a shower and a rest here, she was pretty adamant about staying and I felt sorry for her, she was wrecked.”

Thank you _GOD_ , d’Artagnan thinks gratefully, he had truly feared that she would be very, very angry with him…again. Apparently Aramis had kept his word and spoken to her, he makes a mental note to get his brother something extra special for that pile of a car he loves so much.

“And here she comes now, mum in tow, I’ll be back in a few minutes, we need to do a battery of tests but I’ll give you a few minutes with your girls,” the doctor says kindly and Constance and his mum materialise beside her.

“Finally, I thought I was going to ‘ave to snog you awake, princess, you were taking forever,” Constance tells him fondly, and d’Artagnan knows she’s purposely trying to lighten the mood because his mother is there.

“I’m sorry,” he answers contritely and he turns to his mum. “Hi mama, I…um…I apologise for all of this, but it’s my job and it happens sometimes…” d’Aratgnan tries to explain, but his mother cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“I won’t put any pressure on you now, but when you’re well you’ve got a lot of things to explain to me and your dad,” she says quietly, one tear, then another rolling down her face.

“Mama, please…” he implores, feeling like a complete wanker, “don’t cry, I’m fine, really…”

She nods slowly and takes his hand, kissing the back of it and squeezing it tight. “You two need to spend a few moments alone, I’ll be back,” she assures him, wiping her eyes, and she slips out of the cubicle.

“How long ‘ave I been out of it?” he asks, dazed.

“You were brought in yesterday, around four pm-ish and you’ve just now opened your eyes, so around twenty six hours or so. You scared the daylights out of me, mate,” Constance replies teasingly, but d’Artagnan sees dark circles under her eyes, and worry stamped clearly on her face and his heart stutters. 

“Constance, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just took Marie to school and…oh my God, Marie!” he remembers, panicking, he has no idea what happened to the children or Athos, Jesus, he must be the blue eyed bloke the doctor mentioned. “Constance, was anyone hurt?” he asks frantically and sure enough his heart monitor goes mental and two nurses appear instantly.

“Calm down, luv, everyone is fine,” Constance soothes as the nurses check his pulse, his blood pressure and his oxygen. With a quick warning to Constance to keep him calm, they leave the two of them alone again.

“Marie?” he croaks, his voice rough from the blasted tube.

“Perfectly fine, Athos too, he took a hit to his body armour from a ricochet, he’s just bruised. None of the children or adult hostages were harmed in any way,” she assures him.

“Thank God,” he breathes, utterly and completely relieved. 

“And before you tell me any lies, mate, I already know what happened, Marie told us, believe it or not. Poor Aramis tried to spin it in your favour but ‘from the mouths of babes’ and all that.”

“Constance, I swear to you, I literally had no other choice and…”

Constance shushes him and tries to soothe his agitation. “That thing is going to go off again and they’ll come and toss me out,” she warns with a gentle smile. “I know, you were very brave, everyone is singing your praises, Treville, the parents, the school, the children, even your brothers don’t want to kick your arse this time.”

D’Artagnan searches her face and seeing the sincerity behind her words he suddenly feels overwhelmed with emotion. “I love you, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t promise you that this will never happen again, it’s our job, but I promise it will never happen again because I’ve been reckless or stupid.”

Constance pushes his hair away from his face with gentle fingers and smiles. “I know, I trust you,” she answers simply, stroking his hair and his face affectionately. “There’s something I need to tell you, though, and you aren’t going to like it.”

D’Artagnan freezes. “What?” he asks, suddenly properly terrified. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow, with the Team, for France, Porthos too, it’s all been arranged by the MoD and the Foreign Office.”

“France? But that’s beyond Team 3’s jurisdiction, something like that takes days to arrange,” he states, confused.

Constance nods. “Yes, but it’s Rochefort, he’s been spotted and we’ve been granted emergency clearance. Don’t worry, Athos, Aramis and Porthos are all going as well, plus you know I can take care of myself, mate!” she reminds him with mock sternness.

“If Porthos is going, can’t you stay behind? Who will look after me while you’re away?” he asks petulantly. He doesn’t need her to stay but he desperately wants her to, the idea of her going on what could be a very dangerous mission without him by her side makes him feel physically sick.

‘Your mother. Her cousin Theresa will help your dad at the café and your mum will be taking care of you while you’re on sick leave. Anyway, Sylvie says you can go to work as soon as you’re fit to sit in a chair, she’s got tons of cases she wants you to review. Your mum said she’ll drive you to and from. Besides, I doubt I’ll be gone more than a week or ten days, by the time you’re well enough to go into the office I’ll probably be back to chauffer you around myself. I’ll take some time off, pamper you properly,” she tells him brightly and d’Artagnan realizes that once again everything has been all arranged without his say, all neat and tidy, no one bothering to ask what he thinks or what he wants.

“I don’t want you to go,” he says defiantly, but it comes out like a harsh whisper and without very much force.

Constance places a kiss on his forehead. “I have to,” she counters, and before they can discuss it further the doctor returns, ready to begin doing tests.

“I’ll be back, Porthos is with Athos, I’ll tell them the good news that you’ve finally decided to wake up, they’ll be relieved, Athos especially has been…out of sorts,” she says with a grimace and makes room for the doctor. “Crap, and I have to ring Aramis!”

“Constance, we’ll discuss this again later,” he tells her as she’s leaving, but he’s not sure she’s even heard, he can barely speak, his throat is itchy and dry and he feels all around miserable.

“Before you start draining me like a vampire, can you get my mum in ‘ere? It’s urgent,” he tells Dr. Adams in a scratchy whisper, waving a hand at the cart with the tubes ready to be filled for the lab. 

The doctor looks as if she might protest but she nods and tells one of the nurses to get his mum.

His other appears at once, her expression worried, but he squeezes her hand reassuringly. “Relax, everything’s fine. Dr. Adams, can we have a moment?” he asks.

The doctor nods reluctantly and takes her staff with her. When they’re gone, d’Artagnan turns to his mother.  
“Mum, I’ve got a huge favour to ask of you…”

 

******************************************

 

Aramis has had the absolute worst two days of his life.

He’s had bad moments before, especially with their stupid boy hovering at death’s door more times than he cares to remember, and his ten years of military service were certainly quite hellish, but this time there were children involved, including one very special child of course. In all of his career he had never had the unfortunate duty of trying to keep children out of harm’s way and he hopes it never happens again. He hadn’t managed to sleep a wink, despite Athos’ warning that he needed to be fit and ready to take over his role if need be. Those caffeine pills worked well when he was at Uni, he thinks wryly, hopefully they still do.

He spends his morning puttering around his flat, making sure all his bills are up to date, cleaning his weapons and packing a bag for the trip. He goes about it all rather mechanically, his mind on d’Artagnan who is still unconscious – he refuses to say _coma_ – and Athos who is in a massive amount of pain but it trying very hard to be stoic. He has a missed call from Reina and he considers calling her back, but he’s not sure if he should actually ring or simply text her when the boy wakes up and put her behind him. In all honesty Aramis finds her very attractive, even though blue-eyed blondes are not usually his type; he’s always been attracted to women with darker features and skin tones, but this girl is feisty and intelligent and capable and all of that is much more appealing to Aramis than looks. 

Aramis has literally ‘fucked for England’ as they say and he’s known more women, in the biblical sense, than most of his friends combined. It was his way of dealing with war and death and horror and sometimes he’s ashamed of it but he’s never, ever done anything untoward or improper and never made any promises he hadn’t intended to keep. With respect to Reina, well, there’s no way he’ll call her for a one night stand or even for a short fling; if he calls her it will be to take her on a proper date, and if she’s interested they’ll take it from there. He decides to mull it over a bit until they return from France. If she’s still interested, fine, if not, that’s ok too.

It’s nearly six when he gets everything he needs done at home and after a quick shower and an even quicker wank he get ready to go back to the hospital. He’s shared dozens of texts with Constance who’d forbid him from going earlier, reiterating what Athos has said about his fitness to lead if necessary. He takes a moment to consider if he’s actually is ready for it, after all that’s happened the past year. He’s 38 but lately he feels much older. He’d gone into the military at 23, the UN at 33 and Team 3 just a few months after. It’s been five long and difficult years as an operative but they’ve also been the best 5 years of his life, especially the first four, when the original team was all together. Porthos has been a great friend to him, someone who always has his back and can be relied on in the worst and best moments, they can share a look and everything they need to say is silently conveyed. Athos’ friendship has been his anchor and the man himself his rock and his voice of reason when everything looks bleak. Constance is his mate, one of the lads, his confidante, his little sister and their friendship is very special to him, he’s never been that close to a woman before and her perspective and her loving kindness has soothed his battered soul on many occasions. 

But that stupid, idiotic, reckless, ridiculous boy is his Achilles heel, and even though he’d never even expected to like him and sometimes he thinks he actually _doesn’t_ , he loves him dearly, probably because he’s stupid and idiotic and reckless and ridiculous; he’s never met someone so willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save lives, and to serve his country, and it’s frightening and horrible, but it’s also honourable and rare. 

Aramis has grown weary though, and the thought of being in charge is looking less and less attractive with each moment that passes. He hopes that Athos recovers quickly, he’s simply not sure that his heart is in it anymore and being responsible for six other lives should not be in his hands, not now at least. 

When Constance rings at quarter past six and says that d’Artagnan has woken, Aramis sinks down onto his sofa exhausted and relieved, and he weeps. He’s not sure what will happen in France or what might happen when they return, but for the moment, they’re all pretty much in one piece and Aramis knows how to count his blessings.

 

************************************************

 

Porthos wheels a scrub-clad Athos from his room into the ICU, both of them anxious to see for themselves that d’Artagnan truly is awake and fine.

They find him dozing in his small cubicle but the minute that Porthos parks Athos’ wheel chair beside his bed, d’Aratgnan opens one eye and then the other and gives them both a sleepy grin.

“Oi, I ‘aven’t seen you in ages, mate,” d’Artagnan tells Athos hoarsely and Porthos thinks he could practically sob with relief; he’s fine and there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with his rattled brain.

“It’s good to see you alive, child, though you’re certainly determined to see me into an early grave, aren’t you,” Athos says dryly. “We were forced to watch the entire situation live, via the cctv hidden in the classrooms, it was not pretty, brother.”

“For us either, mate,” d’Artagnan replies grimly. “Hey, how come no one told me about the cameras? That means Constance really does know exactly what ‘appened…” d’Artagnan mutters and Porthos laughs heartily.

“No, we lost the feed, so she never actually saw those last few minutes, but my little girl ratted you out, lad, sorry about that. She says you’re a hero, like in ‘er cartoons,” Porthos tells him sincerely. “I saw it all, brother, thank you, you did everything you could to keep them safe, you and Aramis and Treville...and then this nutter ‘ere decided that he was feeling left out,” Porthos grouses.

D’Artagnan clears his throat and Porthos takes the cup from the side table and gives him a few sips of water. “I don’t remember what happened after Liam clipped me, it all went dark after that,” he admits tiredly, his voice wrecked Porthos notes with a sympathetic frown. 

“You mouthed off to a lunatic, Athos went mental, and when ‘e tried to get to you he was hit by a ricochet; it bounced off ‘is body armour and he was down for the count.”

Athos chuckles. “Porthos, you truly have a way with words, brother, but yes, that’s mostly what happened. I’ve been warned by the others not to berate you since everything turned out alright in the end, but if I wasn’t stuck in this stupid chair until tomorrow I’d probably give you the thrashing I owe you going on four years now. Honestly, child, what were you thinking?”

D’Artagnan hesitates. “I, um, if I tell you that I actually thought it through, took protocol into consideration and did what was best, would you believe me?” he asks earnestly.

Porthos knows how much he’s changed, and how far he’s come, so personally, he _does_ believe him, especially since he knows for certain that d’Artagnan would have never put his child – or any child for that matter – in danger if he didn’t think his plan would work. Athos, he notes though, looks sceptical.

“I’ll take your word for it, lad, because I doubt you’d put innocent lives at risk, you reserve that privilege for your own life mostly,” Athos tells him, his expression pained, but his tone is light. 

“I’m sorry you were hurt on my account,” d’Artagnan says contritely. “I was truly doing what I thought best.”

“Yes, yes, good intentions, road to hell, I know it all by now,” Athos counters, now with a ghost of a smile and Porthos finally feels like a great weight has been lifted.

“I um, face-timed with Aramis, I told him not to bother coming, since Constance told me you lot are leaving early tomorrow,” d’Artagnan begins tentatively. “If you’re going, boss, does she have to go as well?”

Porthos knew this would be coming and he refuses to lie. “She can request to opt-out, I don’t think Treville would insist, Athos?”

Athos hesitates. “She hasn’t requested leave or asked to opt-out, lad, I can’t do anything beyond sign off on her paperwork if she submits it.”

“She told me she has to go,” d’Aratgnan says angrily.

“She told you that because she’s part of Team 3, boy, and Team 3 is going on a mission, how could you possibly be angry about that?” Porthos asks him, incredulous. 

D’Artagnan looks like he might actually cry and Porthos feels like a complete wanker. “I’m sorry, lad, that’s the way it is, you’ll need to speak to her if you don’t want ‘er to go, we can’t stop ‘er, nor should we. In any case, she’ll be fine, there’s six of us and Athos on logistics and we’ll be back in no time. Listen, I know your mum said she’ll be looking after you, but Ellie says you should come stay at ours until we get back, in the downstairs guest room, it’s got an en-suite, no stairs to manoeuvre, she and Marie would love to ‘ave you.”

“I’ll see,” he says sullenly and Porthos exchanges a look with Athos, who is looking very uncomfortable.

“Look, if you want, I can suggest she stay back, take care of you till you’re back on your feet…” Athos tries, but d’Artagnan shakes his head slowly. ‘No, she’ll suspect I put you up to it, but thanks,” he says, giving Athos a grateful smile.

They are interrupted by a nurse who tells them their visiting time is up and then the arrival of his mum who insists that she isn’t a visitor, she’s his _mother_. She greets Porthos and Athos warmly, who she now knows are his colleagues and not just his mates, and she fusses over Athos’ injury, something that makes their brother very uncomfortable, Porthos notes with humour. Before they’re literally tossed out by the annoyed nurse, Athos wheels himself carefully closer to d’Artagnan's bed.

“If you want me to speak to her, ring me,” he says sincerely and d’Artagnan just nods, obviously feeling torn. 

Porthos waits until d’Artagnan’s mum has wheeled Athos out of the cubicle to approach the bed. “Feel better, yeah? And if you want to stay at ours, just say the word, brother.”

“Porthos?”

“Yes lad?”

“Please look after my girl, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her…” he says, his expression shockingly vulnerable. 

“I promise to do everything in my power to keep Constance and everyone else safe, I can only do my best, alright?”

“And yourself, of course,” d’Atagnan tells Porthos meaningfully, “you’ve got to look out for yourself.”

Porthos nods. “I’ll ring you, yeah? Let you know all is well. Behave, will you?” Porthos warns fondly and he leaves, not sure why d’Artagnan’s fears have left him uneasy. He tries to shake it off as he wheels Athos back to his room, but for some reason he simply can’t.

 

*******************************

 

“So, have you got it, mum? You know I’ll pay you back, and if I don’t, you can sell my bike,” d’Artagnan says cheekily to his mother, who has just returned from the errand he’s sent her on. D’Artagnan would have never asked his parents for such a large amount of money but he truly is dead broke and he certainly can’t use his pitiful joint savings with Constance to pay for her engagement ring.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t ask us sooner,” she scolded. “Your father was over the moon when I told him, and you don’t have to pay us back, darling, you’re father and I had wanted to help you with the flat and you’d refused, consider the money a house warming gift,” she tells him sincerely. “You’re lucky Patrick was willing to open the shop for me at this hour, he sends his best by the way.” Her hand, warm from her gloves, gently flutters over the taped cut on his forehead and then cards through his hair and she frowns, her expression suddenly worried and tense. “No matter how happy we are for you and Constance though, your dad and I are quite frustrated with you for keeping so many secrets,” she says with a sigh.

“Mama, I had no choice, but I’ll speak with my superiors and I promise I’ll tell you and dad everything I’m allowed, from the beginning, alright?”

“Does Constance do the same this as you do, luv?” she asks tentatively.

D’Artagnan nods. “It’s how we met, but when I’m out of here and she gets back from her assignment, I’m going to ask her to reevaluate, both of us should actually.”

Before they can continue their conversation Constance arrives and always tactful, knocks on the cubicle glass before entering. D’Artagnan signals to her to wait and she sticks her tongue out at him playfully but she waits outside.

“She’s here, slide it under the sheets, mum, hurry,” he says urgently and he’s happy to see the worry fade from his mum’s face and a smile take its place.

“There, all set, it’s gorgeous, by the way,” she tells him, tucking the box under the sheet just next to his hand. “I’ll make sure no one interrupts,” she adds and kisses his scruffy cheek affectionately. 

“Love you mama,” he calls after her as she leaves and his mum and Constance share a quick word and a hug before his girl comes to stand beside his bed.

“You’re looking better, your _mama_ always has that affect on you,” Constance teases and leans over and kisses him properly.

“Yeah, she does,” he agrees, his voice still scratchy and he clears his throat. “Listen, we need to talk about something,” he begins tentatively, not sure how one goes about proposing while attached to a shitload of machines, on his back in bed with a catheter stuck in his dick. This isn’t how he’s pictured it.

“What’s wrong? If this is about France, you know I’ve got to go…” Constance tells him, but he shakes his head.

“No, although I will ask you one last time to reconsider?” he says hopefully.

“Don’t ask me to do that, d’Artagnan, you promised way back when that you would never do that to me.”

“Alright, alright! Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, it’s something else…” he says, trying to pull himself up slightly in the bed so he’s not exactly lying flat when he proposes. But that just causes him to hiss in pain as he jars his side, his right hand going immediately to his injury and the little blue box goes flying off the rumpled bed and tumbles to the floor.

“Fuck,” he moans, frustrated that he’d managed to muck it all up.

Constance immediately helps him to settle, and presses the button that sends pain relief to his IV before she bends down and retrieves the box. Obviously intrigued, she goes to open it.

“Wait, no!” he croaks, but it’s too late, she’s flipped the top back and is staring at it as if it’s something…amazing.

“Wow, that’s pretty impressive,” she says finally. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

D’Artagnan, in pain and thoroughly distressed that he’s messed it all up, gapes at her, completely shocked. 

“What? You of course!” he answers indignantly, “well, that is if you consider yourself lucky to be getting stuck with me,’ he adds, disgruntled.

“I’m kidding, you idiot, of course I know that I’m the lucky girl, the luckiest girl in the universe,” she tells him sincerely, her eyes filling with tears. “So, are you gonna ask me or what?”

When he realises that he’s managed to let Constance’s trademark wit go right over his head he feels like a complete fool. “Sorry, sorry, bollocks, I’ve fucked it all up, I’m so sorry…”

Constance laughs softly and hands him the box. “Ask me.”

He takes it from her with trembling hands and clears his throat. “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Of course,” she answers, tears now spilling freely down her face. “Put it on me, will you?”

D’Artagnan takes the ring with shaking fingers from the box and Constance reaches out to help him. He’s only just opened his eyes a few hours ago; he’s been shot and beaten and feels overall like shit but this is still the most amazing moment of his life and he doesn’t want to ruin it so he lets Constance guide his hand to hers and she helps him slide the ring onto her finger. 

“There, it’s perfect,” she says, looking at it like it’s some wondrous thing. “You’re reckless and your mad-crazy half the time, but you’re also brilliant and you’re the kindest and most caring person I’ve ever met. I love you, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you,” she tells him sincerely, leaning down for a proper snog. “And you’re quite fit as well,” she adds cheekily “and so _very_ pretty, I’d have to be mad to let you go.”

It’s the most incredible moment they’ve ever shared and suddenly d’Artagnan feels kind of floaty and dreamy, like he’s smoked weed or something, and then it hits him like a freight train.

“You pressed the button,” he slurs, shocked, realising that his veins have been flooded with painkillers and sedatives and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

Constance starts to giggle, and it turns a bit hysterical, because she’s crying from happiness and she’s laughing at her gaffe and then his mum enters the cubicle, looking worried as she hovers over him. He smiles at her, feeling completely and utterly stoned.

“She said yes,” he informs his mum happily, and his lids begin to droop.

“Hey, not yet!” Constance tells him firmly and he cracks one eye opening with difficulty. 

“I’ve got to go, we leave at five am and I haven’t packed, I’ll be back before you know it, alright?” she says gently.

“Alright,” he replies with sleepy sigh, but then he remembers something important and forces his lids open.

“Constance?”

“Yes luv?”

“Nothing stupid,” he slurs and she leans over and presses one more kiss to his cheek and whispers in his ear.

“Never, I’ve got everything to live for haven’t I?”

Fin…for now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: the Aramis/Reina ‘thing’ is brought to you by Cait12 who pointed out that Reina means queen and even though I actually did know that it wasn’t in any way deliberate. So if they end up together, thank Cait12, at the moment they’re just flirting.
> 
> Thanks to Everyone who is reading my mostly self-indulgent series, I truly appreciate your support, it means the world to me :)
> 
> To be continued in Turn Into Earth, which is half-way written :) I really wanted to put a summary but it would give too much away ;)


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